HL 


UC-NRLF 


B  3  ma  ?.?.h 


SCHUBERT  I 
FANX^IES 


A.FOXTON 

FERGUSON 


I 


/ 


Boston 
THE  FOUR  SEAS 
COMPANY    * 


E7^LI5KIS 


GIFT   OF 
Sir  Henry   ileyma.n 


SCHUBERT  FANTASIES 


"At  this  niouicnt  Schubert  noticed  that  the  in- 
valid had  suddenly  raised  himself  up  from  his 
reclining  position." 


SCHUBERT  FANTASIES 


Adapted  from  the  German  of  Ott fried 

n 


BY 


A.  FOXTON  FERGUSON 


Boston 

The  Four  Seas  Company 

1914 


Copyright,  1914,  by 
The  Four  Seas  Company 


THE       FOUR       SEAS       PRESS 
SHARON,     MASS.,     U.     S.     A. 


PREFACE 

Fiction,  to  adapt  a  phrase  of  Aristotle's,  if  it 
does  not  tell  you  what  did  take  place  on  a 
given  occasion,  often  tells  us  what  well  might 
have  taken  place. 

The  following  stories  are  Fiction,  but  might 
just  as  well  be  Fact.  Indeed  many  of  the 
details  given  are  historically  true,  while  all  of 
them  bare  some  relation  to  proved  character- 
istics of  Schubert.  In  him  fervent  imagina- 
tion was  allied  to  a  mind  of  child-like  simplici- 
ty. Though  a  man  of  little  education,  he  had 
a  scholar's  knack  of  tearing  the  heart  out  of 
a  piece  of  classical  literature  at  first  sight. 

The  following  translations  are  merely  an  at- 
tempt to  bring  before  young  admirers  of 
Schubert,  stories  of  several  of  his  songs 
which  reveal  somewhat  more  of  the  real  man 
than  can  be  learned  from  his  brief  Biography. 

A  word  of  grateful  thanks  is  due  to  the 
Religious  Tract  Society  for  its  ver}^  kind  per- 
mission to  allow  me  to  reprint  those  of  my 
translations  which  appeared  some  years  ago 
in  the  "Girl's  Own  Paper." 

After  all,  the  charm  of  Schubert  lies  in  his 
guileless  sincerity;  and  it  can,  I  suppose,  be 
said  of  him  more  truly  than  of  most — 

"No  matter  that  his  speech  doth    lack    some  art, 

Since  what  went  in  v/ent  to, 
And  what  came  out  came  irom-'-Ats  heart." 

A.  F.  F. 


bb^.)V  I 


THE   ERL-KING 


c 


THE  ERL-KING 

ARL,  do  put  that  book  away,  you  are  over- 
taxing your  nerves,  which  are  still  weak 
after  all  the  fever  you  have  had.  You  know 
the  doctor  said  you  were  only  to  read  so  long 
as  you  did  not  go  beyond  your  strength,  and 
now  it's  already  evening  and  the  room  is  so 
dark  that  you  will  be  injuring  your  eyes." 

So  spoke,  in  her  gentle  voice,  the  widow  Frau 
Hedwig  to  her  sixteen-year-old  son  Carl,  who 
lay  on  the  sofa  in  a  state  of  semi-convalescence. 

If  anyone  had  looked  carefully  at  the  youth, 
he  must  have  feared  the  very  worst.  The  fever 
had  been  raging  for  months  within  him,  and 
had  burned  its  way  right  to  the  marrow  of  his 
bones;  so  that  the  doctor  had  long  ago  per- 
ceived that  it  was  in  vain  to  gamble  with  Death 
for  his  young  life.  It  was  the  anxious  guardian 
alone,  his  mother,  who  had  no  eye  for  the  dan- 
ger in  which  her  only  son  lay,  and  no  notion 
that  Fate  had  already  prepared  the  cup  of  sor- 
row which  she  must  soon  drain  to  its  last  drop. 

"You  are  very  strict  to-day,  mother;  you 
mustn't  grudge  me  my  humble  pleasures."  Here 
a  hard  dry  cough  interrupted  the  sufferer,  so 
that  he  had  to  pause  for  a  few  moments.  "You 
don't  know,"  he  continued,  "what  pleasure  Herr 

II 


12  Schubert  Fantasies 

Schubert  gave  me  yesterday  by  bringing  me  a 
book  of  Goethe's  Poems.  Have  you  read  them, 
mother?     They   are    simply   beautiful." 

"Nay,  how  am  I,"  exclaimed  Frau  Hedwig, 
**to  find  time  for  reading  and  poetry?  Work  is 
all  I  can  think  of — work  to  keep  us  both  from 
want,  and  to  bring  you  up  that  you  sha'nt  one 
day  have  to  beg  your  bread — that's  what  my 
poetry  comes  to." 

"Oh,  mother,  how  shall  I  ever  repay  you  for 
your  goodness?  Why,  you  find  me  the  means 
to  study  so  that  I  may  become  a  useful  citizen, 
and  now  you're  letting  me  learn  music  of  our 
dear  Herr   Schubert!" 

"Well,  as  to  that,  it  was,  you  know,  Herr 
Schubert's  own  desire  to  be  your  teacher,  and 
he  absolutely  refuses  to  take  any  pay  for  the 
pianoforte  lessons  he  gives  you.  He  says  you 
have  talent,  and  that  he  is  willing  to  invest  his 
capital  on  such  good  security." 

"I  wonder  where  he  is  to-day,"  said  Carl. 
"You  know,  mother  mine,  that,  purely  out  of 
aflfection  for  me,  he  comes  here  every  day  and 
improvises  for  an  hour  or  so  on  the  piano.  You 
cannot  imagine  how  it  affects  me.  It  seems, 
when  he  plays,  as  though  I  saw  the  heavens 
opened,  and  angels  bending  over  to  listen  to 
his  transcendental  melodies.    If  only  Herr  Schu- 


Schubert  Fantasies  13 

bert  would  consent,  when  I  ask  him,  to  com- 
pose a  song,  I  am  certain  that  the  whole  musical 
world  would  be  in  ecstasies,  and  Schubert's 
song  would  never  be  forgotten." 

Just  then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
the  conversation  between  mother  and  son  was 
broken  by  the  appearance  of  Dr.  Schmidt. 

"Good  evening,  Frau  Hedwig,  and  Carl,  my 
lad,  how  goes  it  with  you?"  interrogated  a 
cheery-looking  elderly  gentleman. 

"Thanks,  doctor,"  said  Carl,  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
"quite  well.  I  feel  my  chest  quite  free — in  fact, 
so  well,  so  easy,  that  I  think  I  shall  have  to 
take  my  wing  and  fly  right  away  over  the  houses, 
like  a  bird  escaped  from  its  cage,  to  sun  my- 
self in  the  beautiful  garden  of  God." 

The  doctor  took  the  invalid's  feverish  hand; 
the  pulse  was  weak  but  fairly  regular. 

"Take  good  care  of  yourself,  Carl,  and  soon 
all  will  be  well.  For  a  few  more  days  take  plen- 
ty of  rest,  and  the  time  will  come  when  you 
shall  praise  God  in  all  the  beauty  of  His  works." 

"Only  one  thing,  doctor;  my  mother  won't 
let  Herr  Schubert  see  me,  if  he  comes  to  play 
to  me  in  the  evening;  because  she  thinks  it 
is  too  much  for  my  nerves.  Please  do  tell  her 
that  Herr  Schubert  may  play  to  me ;     it  really 


14  Schubert  Fantasies 

makes  me  sleep,  .and  gives  me  the  happiest 
dreams." 

''Well,  so  long  as  Schubert  takes  care,  Frau 
Hedwig,  not  to  do  our  Carl  any  harm!  And 
if  the  fever  should  return  in  the  night,  just  give 
him  the  cooling  draught  which  has  worked  won- 
ders for  him  before.     Good  night." 

Hardly  had  he  left  the  room  when  a  tear 
trickled  down  his  cheek,  which  he  had  tried  hard 
to  keep  back  in  the  presence  of  the  sick  boy. 
'Toor  plant,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "scarce 
blossomed  as  yet  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth  be- 
fore withered,  and  compelled  to  return  to  it 
again.  Great  Gardener,  up  there  above  the  stars, 
take  it  to  Thyself,  and  transplant  it  into  those 
fields  where  Thy  heavenly  flowers  do  all  thrive 
in  the  perpetual  light  of  Thy  goodness  'and 
power."     At  the  front  door  he  met  Schubert. 

"Doctor,"  said  Schubert,  "how  is  our  dear  pa- 
tient?" 

Dr.  Schmidt  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"So  bad,  doctor?  No  hope  of  saving  him?" 
"None  my  friend ;  he  is  palpably  getting  weak- 
er; the  fever  is  still  consuming  him,  and  is 
using  up  completely  the  little  strength  that  re- 
mains to  him.  His  end  will  come  lightly,  like 
a  sleep.     Poor  youth !" 

"Poor  mother,"  gasped  Schubert. 


Schubert  Fantasies  15 

"But  don't  delay,  Schubert;  the  sufferer  is 
waiting  impatiently  for  you.  I  hear  that  you 
are  practising  every  day  a  beautiful  sacred 
work.  You  are  trying  to  brighten  the  poor  fel- 
low's last  hours  through  the  power  of  music. 
You  do  right.  Your  music  comes  from  the 
heart  and  goes  in  turn  to  his.  To-morrow  I 
shall  come  again.  How  long  will  my  visits  con- 
tinue?    Well,  we  are  in  God's  hands." 

iMuch  moved,  the  two  friends  parted. 

For  the  youth  Schubert  felt  a  most  sincere 
devotion.  He  had  known  him  for  five  years, 
since  the  time,  in  fact,  that  he  had  occupied  a 
room  in  Frau  Hedwig's  house  after  she  became 
a  widow.  At  his  very  first  meeting  wath  Carl 
the  musician  had  felt  himself  drawn  to  the  boy, 
and  later  they  were  bound  together  by  the  in- 
visible bonds  of  their  mutual  love  for  music. 
For  the  first  time  the  accord  between  them  was 
to  be  interrupted  by  the  harsh  dissonance  of 
death. 

With  a  heavy  heart  Schubert  entered  the  sick- 
chamber,  lighted  as  it  was  by  nothing  but  the 
pale  rays  of  the  moon,  which  caused  the  inva- 
lid's wasted  cheeks  to  look  even  paler  and  more 
ghastly  than  they  really  were. 

"Good  evening,  Carl.  Still  on  the  sofa — not 
yet  in  bed?" 


t6  Schubert  Fantasies 

'*Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Franz.  I  only 
wanted  to  stay  up  till  you  came.  I  felt  so  well 
and  so  much  easier  to-day.  Dr.  Schmidt  is  very 
pleased  with  his  patient.  He  left  me  only  this 
moment ;    you  must  have  met  him  on  the  stairs." 

"Yes,  I  saw  him,"  replied  Schubert,  with  dif- 
ficulty struggling  to  regain  composure. 

*'And  now,  please,"  said  Carl,  seeing  that 
Schubert  was  about  to  sit  by  him  on  the  sofa, 
"please,  if  you  will,  go  straight  to  the  piano. 
I  am  longing  to  hear  you  to-day.  It  is  so  quiet 
here  in  this  room,  and  it's  so  romantic,  with 
the  moon  yonder  shedding  its  full  light  upon  us, 
and  the  golden  stars  twinkling  so  brightly.  I've 
asked  mother  not  to  light  the  lamp,  it's  so 
much  more  poetical,  and  the  more  poetry 
there  is  about  us  the  more  a  great  poet  like 
)^ou  will  be  in  your  element." 

"But  where  is  your  mother?"  asked  Schu- 
bert, who  feared  to  be  left  alone  with  the  dying 
boy. 

"She  is  at  her  evening  prayers,"  answered 
Carl.  "I  wonder  whether  she  will  remember  me 
in  them?" 

Schubert  felt  a  choking  sensation  at  his  throat. 
Then,  trembling  with  emotion,  he  opened  a  piano 
which  stood  facing  the  sofa  on  which  Carl  lay. 

"What  am  I  to  play  you  ?" 


Schubert    Fantasies  17 

"Nothing  by  anyone  but  yourself,"  exclaimed 
the  other,  ''some  little  fancy  of  your  own." 

And  Schubert  began.  At  first  a  wailing  melo- 
dy like  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  torments,  then  the 
song  rose  up  and  grew  quicker  and  quicker,  till 
the  right  hand  seemed  hardly  able  to  follow  the 
flight  of  the  player's  thoughts. 

At  this  moment  Schubert  noticed  that  the  in- 
valid had  suddenly  raised  himself  up  from  his 
reclining  position,  and  after  moving  himself 
round  so  as  to  catch  the  full  light  of  the  moon, 
had  seized  with  trembling  eagerness  the  book 
which  was  lying  close  to  him  on  the  table,  and 
was  turning  over  the  leaves. 

Suddenly,  the  youth's  lips  began  to  move,  and 
he  commenced  to  recite,  his  voice  combining 
with  the  music  to  produce  a  most  weird  effect. 

**Who  rideth  bv  nisfht  i)irou2fli  the  forest  so 

wild? 
It  is  the  father  embracing  his  child ; 
He  holds  the  loved  one  in  his  strong  arm. 
He  grasps  him  firmly,  he  keeps  him  warm." 

Schubert  shuddered ;  he  tried  to  break  off 
the  song,  he  could  not  do  it.  The  wan  face  of 
the  invalid  gave  an  appealing  glance,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  continue. 

Schubert,  who  had  never  yet  composed  a  song, 
now    found   the    right   tones    in   the   expression 


i8  Schubert    Fantasies 

with  which  the  reciter  declaimed  them.  And 
when  the  youth  came  to  the  place  where  the 
tones  grow  more  alluring,  the  musician's  fingers 
moved  in  sympathy,  and  seemed  as  though  they 
were  being  lulled  to  sleep  by  visions  of  enchant- 
ing loveliness — 

"Wilt  go  with  me,  my  darling  child? 
With  lovely  games   shall  thy  hours  be  be- 

guil'd; 
And  flowers  and  clothes  and  many  a  toy, 
My  mother  has  got  for  her  darling  boy." 

And  again  the  lad's  voice  grew  stronger  and 
stronger,  as  Schubert  fell  once  more  into  the 
mysterious  melody  with  which  he  had  com- 
menced. 

Frau  Hedwig  had  meanwhile  entered  the 
room,  and  was  listening  quietly  to  this  wonder- 
ful combination  of  inspired  forces. 

Carl's  voice  grew  more  and  more  powerful, 
till  he  reached  the  words,  "The  Erl-King  has 
seized  me  and  made  me  his  own,"  which  he  gave 
out  with  an  almost  superhuman  strength. 

There  was  a  pause.  Schubert  wished  to  leave 
the  piano. 

"We  are  not  yet  at  the  end!  Do  stay  Franz] 
I  must  read  you  the  conclusion  of  the  poem. 
How  beautifully  you  have  pictured  Goethe's 
words!     Not   a  note   has  escaped   me,   and   to- 


Schubert    Fantasies  19 

morrow  rm  going  to  write  it  all  down.  Now, 
you  see,  your  first  song  is  composed.  How  of- 
ten have  I  begged  you  to  write  one,  and  here, 
in  a  moment,  you  have  fulfilled  my  request.  But 
we  must  finish  it,  for  I'm  getting  very  tired. 
Listen!  There's  the  church  clock  striking  nine, 
and  the  moon  has  vanished  behind  the  clouds. 
Mother  dear,  do  go  and  bring  us  a  light." 

His  mother  went  towards  the  door. 

With  changed  voice  the  invalid  began  to  re- 
cite the  last  verse.  Schubert  caught  the  right 
mood  in  a  moment.  Then,  more  in  a  breath  than 
with  his  voice,  Carl  uttered  the  last  words,  "The 
child  was  dead." 

A  string  of  the  piano  broke,  and  the  sound 
went  clanging  through  the  chamber.    The  moth- 
er brought  the  lamp  into  the  room. 
***** 

In  the  cemetery  at  Wahring,  in  the  same  buri- 
al-ground where  the  immortal  master-singer 
Schubert  has  been  resting  for  some  years,  there 
hung  for  several  days  after  that  evening,  upon 
a  wooden  cross  over  a  humble  grave,  a  fresh 
wreath  of  flowers,  and  it  had  attached  to  it  a 
white  ribbon,  on  which,  in  black  handwriting, 
these  words  stood  clearly  out — 

"The  Birthday  of  my  Erl-King  was  the  day 
on  which  my  dear  pupil  Carl  Hedwig  died." 


WITHERED  FLOWERS 


I 


WITHERED  FLOWERS 

T  was  the  month  of  May,  in  all  its  ful- 
ness and  glory.  The  fields  and  mead- 
ows lay  basking  in  light  and  warmth, 
and  the  same  bright  sun  which  impartially 
shines  upon  all  alike,  upon  palace  and  upon 
cottage,  had  even  found  its  way  through  the 
narrow  gratings  of  the  prison,  bringing  with 
it  a  message  of  hope,  and  anticipation  of  free- 
dom to  the  captives  who  were  confined  within 
its  walls. 

But  the  day  was  passing,  and  as  the  sun 
sank  in  the  sky  it  looked  in  at  a  window  all 
overgrown  with  creepers  and  ivy,  in  order  to 
cast  a  farewell  glance  upon  the  great  genius 
whom  Apollo  had  chosen  for  his  own,  Schu- 
bert, the  composer. 

Schubert,  sunk  in  thought,  was  sitting  at  the 
piano  with  Miiller's  poems  before  him — the 
poet  whom  he  had  already  more  than  once  im- 
mortalized by  digging  out  the  rough  stones, 
and  then  cutting  and  polishing  them  till  they 
shone  like  priceless  jewels.  Occupied  with  his 
ow^n  thoughts,  and  entirely  oblivious  of  the 
outside  world,  he  did  not  hear  a  sharp  rap  at 
his  door,  and  it  was  not  until  it  had  been  re- 
peated    several    times    that    he     unwillingly 

23 


24  Schubert    Fantasies 

looked  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and 
then  noticed  Theresa,  his  old  housekeeper, 
who  had  nursed  him  from  his  cradle,  stand- 
ing there,  all  eager  to  speak. 

"Sir,  it  is  high  time  you  were  off,  if  you  don't 
wish  to  miss  the  funeral  sermon.  I  saw  the 
parson  go  into  the  house  just  now.  Ah,  but 
it's  a  pity  about  poor  Cecilia,  that  she  has  been 
called  away  so  soon  !" 

"Do  not  be  sorry  for  the  dead,  Theresa," 
said  Schubert,  still  a  little  put  out  by  the  in- 
terruption. "After  all,  this  is  the  first  time 
that  we  can  really  speak  of  her  as  happy." 

Without  another  word,  but  with  much  shak- 
ing of  the  head,  the  old  woman  reached  down 
his  hat,  which  Schubert  took  from  her  hands 
in  silence.  He  then  left  his  own  flat  and  de- 
scended to  the  second  floor  of  the  mansion  in 
which  he  lived.  It  was  one  of  the  saddest  of 
tragedies — a  mother  had  lost  her  only  child. 
Cecilia  was  only  eighteen  years  of  age,  the 
daughter  of  a  widow,  and  now  she  had  gone. 
The  struggle  had  been  a  short  but  stern  one. 
But  if  death  had  claimed  her  body,  there  was 
good  hope  for  believing  that  her  soul  had  es- 
caped, and  passed  on  the  wings  of  glory  into 
the  abode  of  blessedness  and  immortality. 

Schubert  entered  the  chamber  of  death,  or 


Schubert    Fantasies  25 

as  it  seemed,  rather,  the  bower  of  flowers, 
which,  as  though  sorrowing  for  their  sister  in 
beauty  and  innocence,  were  hanging  their 
heads  around  her  in  grief  at  her  loss.  The  cof- 
fin was  not  yet  closed,  and  it  appeared  as 
though  a  halo,  a  promise  of  future  glory,  hung 
about  the  fair  young  face  of  the  maiden. 

It  was  no  idle  curiosity,  but  sympathy  of 
the  most  reverent  kind,  which  filled  the  hearts 
of  those  standing  by.  And  at  this  moment  it 
was  the  turn  of  the  ministei,  a  grey-headed, 
venerable  man,  to  speak  a  few  words  of  com- 
fort. He  belonged  to  the  family,  in  fact,  it  was 
the  uncle  who  was  to  perform  this  last  sad 
duty  of  affection  towards  the  young  niece  who 
had  gone  before  him.  The  little  address  he 
gave  was  uttered  in  a  quavering  voice,  and 
every  eye  was  moist  as  he  referred  to  the 
maiden's  past  life,  and  then,  turning  to  the  be- 
reaved mother,  bade  her,  in  words  full  of  con- 
solation and  hope,  look  forward  to  a  happy  re- 
union with  her  daughter  hereafter. 

But  the  thing  which  astonished  Schubert, 
who  was  standing  near  to  the  minister,  was  to 
hear  him  close  in  the  following  words — 

''Depart,  then,  in  peace,  picture  of  rare  de- 
votion and  self-sacrifice ;  and  those  words 
which  in  thy   unhappy  life    brought    thee  so 


26  Schubert    Fantasies 

much    consolation,  I    utter   now  as    my  last 
words  to  thee — 

'The  May  has  come  for  thee. 
Thy  winter  is  o'er.' " 
His  voice  died  away,  the  coffin  was  closed, 
and  the  mourners  silently  separated,  with  just 
a  word  or  two  of  sympathy  with  the  mother  in 
her  bereavement.  A  few  went  up  to  the  min- 
ister to  thank  him  for  his  touching  address, 
among  whom  would  hive  been  Schubert,  had 
not  the  minister  interrupted  him  by  turning 
to  him  and  saying — 

"Herr  Schubert,  I  saw  that  you  were  sur- 
prised at  my  making  reference  at  the  close  of 
my  address  to  one  of  the  songs  you  have  com- 
posed. You  naturally  could  not  guess  the  rea- 
son which  prompted  me  to  insert  that  quota- 
tion. But  here,  in  my  hands,  is  a  gift  which 
I  was  to  hand  over  to  you  at  the  express  de- 
sire of  my  dear  niece." 

With  these  words  he  handed  over  to  the  mu- 
sician a  sealed  packet. 

"You  will,  I  am  sure,  spare  a  tear  to  her 
memory  when  you  examine  the  contents,  and 
— God  bless  you,  Herr  Schubert — I  must  now 
go  to  the  cemetery." 

The  minister  left  the  room,  and  Schubert,  in 
bewilderment  at  receiving  a  bequest  from  one 


Schubert    Fantasies  2^ 

who  had  been  utterly  unknown  to  him,  fol- 
lowed his  example,  and  silently  withdrew. 

Once  back  home,  before  his  desk,  Schubert 
sat  with  the  packet  in  his  hand. 

"Why  do  I  tremble  at  opening  it?"  he  was 
saying  in  an  undertone  to  himself.  "Why  do 
I  tremble?  It  is  my  own.  And  yet — by  this 
gift  I  seem  to  be  brought  into  connection  with 
one  who  is  dead." 

Quickly  breaking    the    seal,    he    undid  the 
wrapper.    A  sheet  of  paper,  to  which  a  bunch 
of  withered  flowers  was  affixed,  met  his  eyes. 
The  nosegay  consisted  of  roses  and  forget-me- 
nots,  bound  together  with  golden  threads  of 
hair.     On  the  edge  of  the  paper,  just  beneath 
the  leaves,  were  written  these  words — 
"May  is  come, 
And  winter  is  o'er" 
and  over  the  words,  the  little  melody  which 
Schubert  had  composed  for  them. 

Next  to  this  lay  a  few  loose  leaves  cut  out 
of  a  diary,  along  with  a  letter  addressed  to 
"The  Master-singer,  Schubert." 

"What  a  strange  bequest  to  make  to  me,  an 
utter  stranger  to  her!  What  can  the  connec- 
tion be  between  my  song  and  these  flowers?" 

He  tore  open  the  leUer.  cast  but  a  look  on 
the  handwriting — "from  her!"  and  then  read — 


28  Schubert    Phantasies 

"Honoured  Master, — When  these  lines 
reach  your  hands  the  grave  will  lie  between  us. 
Thus  I  can  tell  you  all  about  these  enclosures 
without  blushing  for  my  handiwork.  You  will 
be  surprised  to  receive  this  message  from  an 
unknown  girl,  and  to  find  it  written  in  her 
very  life's  blood ;  but  when  you  have  read  it, 
you  will  understand  my  purpose.  Please  ac- 
cept my  warmest  gratitude  for  the  song, 
which,  however  unintentionally,  you  have  ded- 
icated to  me,  and  spare  me,  if  you  can,  a  pass- 
ing thought  of  remembrance." 

Schubert  seized  the  loose  sheets,  which  were 
covered  with  writing  in  a  dainty  feminine 
hand,  though  here  and  there  they  showed 
traces  of  some  abnormal  excitement. 

The  first  page  bore  this  inscription — **The 
eve  of  my  seventeenth  birthday." 

"A  bride !  How  full  of  meaning  the  word. 
I  can  scarcely  think  that  it  is  I  who  am  the 
bride.  To  be  united  with  him  whom  I  love  so 
inexpressibly,  who  is  my  world,  and  my  all ! 
Ah,  do  I  deserve  to  be  so  happy?  Robert  is  so 
clever  and,  as  all  my  friends  say,  so  handsome. 
In  Society  he  shines  so  brightly  that  my  van- 
ity whispers  to  me  that  every  woman  must 
envy  me.  How  has  it  come  about  that  an  ig- 
norant girl  such  as  I  should  have  arrested  his 


Schubert    Fantasies  29 

attention  that  evening  at  the  ball?  What  was 
it  that  chained  him  to  my  side  all  the  time,  and 
that  showed  me  a  new  and  undiscovered  world 
when  I  looked  into  his  dark  eyes?  How  proud 
I  Avas  to  see  him  unmoved  by  the  luxuriant 
beauty  of  the  rose  but  entranced  by  the  hum- 
ble little  violet !  The  words  that  passed  be- 
tween us  that  first  evening  that  we  met — these 
must  for  ever  remain  locked  up  in  my  own 
bosom.  However,  Robert  asked  my  mother's 
leave  to  visit  us,  and  I  saw  her  whisper  some 
words  in  his  ear  which  made  him  look  very 
seriously  at  me,  and  then  blush  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair.  I  knew  not  then  the  reason,  but  now 
it  is  clear.  The  flame  burned  up  the  sacrifice. 
Next  day  he  laid  his  hand  in  mine  and 
spoke — 

''  'Cecilia,  will  you  be  mine,  in  life  and  for 
life?'" 

"And  all  my  quivering  pulses  answered, 
'Yes.'  My  mother,  with  streaming  eyes, 
blessed  us  both.  Robert  put  his  arms  around 
me,  I  felt  a  kiss  on  my  lips,  and  heard  a  whis- 
per in  my  ear,  *My  own  lovely  bride.'  " 

With  heightened  interest  Schubert  took  up 
the  second  leaf,  inscribed,  *'On  my  Saint's 
Day." 

''Alas,  alas !    The  catastrophe  which  I  have 


30  Schubert    Fantasies 

long  suspected  has  taken  place.  To  think  that 
I  must  still  live !  A  harsh  discord,  which  can 
never  be  resolved,  has  broken  in  upon  our 
harmony.  Robert  is — how  can  I  utter  it — I 
am  deceived  in  my  marriage  vows — he  is,  he 
himself  confesses  it,  a  freethinker,  who  has  no 
faith,  no  belief  in  a  Divine  Being  who  lives 
above  us  in  His  own  blue  Heaven.  Ah,  how 
I  long  now  for  the  great  true  Teacher  who 
lived  two  thousand  years'  ago,  and  befriended 
those  who  had  faith !  But  I  can  win  him 
round.  His  hand  has  lain  in  mine.  I  will 
trust  him,  I  will  appeal  to  him.  In  vain.  As 
well  might  I  have  kept  silence.  He  only 
laughed  at  me  and  despised  me.  I  yearned  to 
be  one  with  him  in  my  inmost  heart;  he  re- 
garded me  from  without  and  cared  nothing 
for  my  feelings.  My  feelings  became  auto- 
matic, I  became  a  mere  machine ;  the  joints  of 
the  machine  broke,  and  all  the  mechanism  was 
destroyed. 

"O  ye  flowers  yonder,  which  only  to-day  he 
gave  me  as  a  token  of  his  love,  you  will  wither 
upon  my  breast  just  as  my  faith  in  my  hus- 
band has  been  withered  up  and  destroyed.  God 
in  his  mercy  forgive  him ! 

''The  conflict  is  over.  I  know  that  I  must 
go,  and  I  go  happily  and  peacefully.     If  only 


I 


Schubert    Fantasies  31 

I  could  take  my  mother  with  me  to  a  better 
world.    But  she  will  be  glad  to  know  that  I  am 
happy.     Once  more  I  seem  to  hear  that  glo- 
rious song — yes,  it  speaks  true  now — 
"  'May  is  come, 
The  winter  is  o'er.' 

"Do  you  realize,  inspired  master,  how  much 
your  song  has  cheered  me,  what  consolation  it 
has  brought  me  in  all  my  grief?  My  heart  was 
frozen  up,  but  your  song  made  my  pulses  beat 
again  in  ever  warmer  and  warmer  throbs 
towards  my  fellow-men.  Thus,  without  know- 
ing it,  your  creative  genius  has  dedicated  a 
song  to  nic ;  and,  without  knowing  you,  I  ac- 
cept it  as  your  gift  to  me — as  a  star  which  has 
lightened  my  dark  path,  and  which  guides  me 
now  to  the  place  where  I  would  be. 

"Will  you  accept  from  her  who  is  now  going 
home  a  flower  in  token  of  remembrance? 
^Withered  Flowers'  you  dedicated  to  me,  and 
withered  flowers,  whose  fate  I  shared  on  earth, 
does  she  give  you  in  return  whose  sufferings 
you  enlightened  by  means  of  your  divine 
poesy.  Who  it  is  that  sends  you  these  flowers 
you  will  learn  from  a  perusal  of  the  first  two 
pages  of  this  dia.ry.  My  uncle  has  promised 
me  faithfully  to  place  them  in  your  hands. 

"Despise  not  the  gift — for  it  is  the  only  one, 
and  the  best  that  I  have." 


32  Schubert   Fantasies 

Schubert  paused  for  a  moment,  much  moved 
by  what  he  had  read.  But,  as  to  the  connec- 
tion between  her  disappointed  hopes  and  his 
composition,  he  had  ah'eady  read  two  pages 
and  was  no  wiser  than  before. 

"Who  would  ever  have  supposed,"  muttered 
Schubert,  "that  this  delicate  creature  had  such 
a  will  of  iron?  I  am  only  grieved  that  death 
should  have  taken  her  away  before  ever  I 
knew  her.  It  might  be  that  I  could  have 
helped  her." 

He  passed  on  to  the  third  page. 

"What  a  change  in  the  handwriting!" 

This  last  sheet  bore  no  inscription. 

Evening  had  already  drawn  her  dark  curtain 
over  the  sky,  and  the  stars  had  come  out  to 
watch  ;  the  moon  was  climbing  up  the  heavens, 
and  shone,  as  it  rose,  upon  the  face  of  Schu- 
bert, leaning,  full  of  thought,  in  his  window. 
In  his  eye  a  tear  glistened  for  her  who  had 
gone.  Above  him,  a  nightingale  was  raising 
her  lonely  song  of  lament. 


THE  ORGAN  GRINDER 


THE  ORGAN  GRINDER 

T7VERY0NE  knows  the  big  mansion  at 
^-^  Meidling  which  lies  so  pleasantly  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  next  to  the  Emperor's  sum- 
mer residence  of  Schonbrunn.  It  is  enclosed 
by  beautiful  trees,  and  is  further  protected 
from  the  dust  of  the  street  which  runs  past  it 
by  a  large  garden.  On  the  front  of  the  house 
a  dark  escutcheon  is  conspicuous,  and  upon 
it,  in  gold  letters,  the  friendly  greeting,  "Wel- 
come !' 

It  was  on  a  lovely  summer's  day  that 
sounds  of  mirth  and  joy  might  have  been 
heard  proceeding  from  the  rooms.  Had  you 
looked  in  at  the  open  w^indows,  you  would 
have  seen  servants  in  brown  liveries  and  gold 
lace  hurrying  about  with  silver  trays  in  their 
hands.  The  meal  seemed  to  be  finished,  and 
the  guests  w^ere  evidently  preparing  for  an 
informal  chat  over  their  cafe  noir. 

It  was  a  ground-floor  room — a  kind  of  con- 
servatory, the  sides  of  w^hich  were  overgrown 
W'ith  all  sorts  of  creeping  plants,  from  among" 
which  many  a  lovely  tlower  peeped  its  tiny 
head.  In  the  middle  stood  a  small  fountain, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  basin  a  nymph,  hold- 
ing out   a   crystal    bowl    of   sparkling   water. 

35 


36  Schubert  Fantasies 

Round  the  fountain  were  ranged  chairs  and 
tables.  Ludmilla,  Countess  of  Wangenheim, 
who  owned  the  mansion,  was  giving  a  party, 
and  the  guests  had  just  gathered  here  after 
lunch.  A  careful  observer  would  have  seen 
at  once  that  all  that  the  Royal  Borough  could 
boast  in  the  way  of  talent  or  beauty  was 
gathered  here.  The  man  of  fortune  fraternized 
with  the  man  of  genius ;  persons  of  high  mili- 
tary or  civil  rank  rubbed  shoulders  with  ar- 
tists and  poets.  It  was,  in  fact,  no  caste  as- 
sembly, but  in  very  truth — a  party. 

In  a  niche  of  one  of  the  windows  stood  two 
gentlemen  engaged  in  earnest  conversation 
together.  One  wore  the  becoming  and  bril- 
liant uniform  of  a  colonel  of  Hussars,  deco- 
rated with  a  whole  row  of  orders ;  the  other 
was  clothed  in  a  simple  suit  of  black. 

"Herr  Schubert,"  said  Count  Erben — for 
this  was  the  officer's  name,  "do  try  to  per- 
suade the  Countess  to  sing  to  us.  I  feel  she 
cannot  give  her  guests  any  greater  pleasure 
than  to  hear  her." 

"I  will  do  what  I  can  with  her,"  said  Schu- 
bert; "but  I  am  here  to  beg,  and  not  to  com- 
mand. Is  not  this  last,"  he  added  in  a  softer 
voice,  "rather  the  role  of  her  intended?" 

"  'Command,'    Schubert  ?      That's    a    word 


Schubert  Fantasies  -^y 

that's  not  to  be  found  in  a  lover's  dictionary. 
Command  one's  fiancee?  My  good  friend,  'tis 
clear  enough  you  were  never  engaged?" 

"No,  Count ;  I  am  more  than  that — I  am 
married — married  to  a  being  to  whom  I  have 
entrusted  my  whole  life,  I  know  she  is  apt  to 
be  changeable  and  fickle.  Her  name  is — 
Imagination !  And  she  has  golden  wings  and 
flies  where  she  will." 

"Then  I  should  chain  her  down." 

"Oh,  no ;  I  am  her  husband,  not  her  jailor. 
And  if  she  does  now  and  then  grant  a  tete-a- 
tete  to  another,  yet  she  has  belonged  to  me  a 
goodly  time,  and  I've  an  idea  that  it  will  be 
long  before  she  deserts  me.  But,  seriously, 
I  Avill  certainly  tell  the  Countess  of  your 
wish." 

A  moment  later,  a  gentle  hand  was  placed 
upon  the  arm  of  the  Count,  while  a  blue  eye 
glanced  up  into  his  face. 

"Count  Erben  has  need,  then,  of  an  inter- 
preter? And  you,  Herr  Schubert — you  were 
persuaded  to  assume  this  office?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  Schubert  answered  with 
a  laugh — 

"I  really  can't  explain  how  it  came  about, 
Countess,  for  today  you  ought  to  have  the  sole 
privilege  of  granting  favors." 


38  Schubert  Fantasies 

**In  that  case,  I  know  all  Hugo's  wishes  in 
advance.  He  would  even  levy  toll  on  my 
fingers;  wants  some  Beethoven,  'just  this 
once,'  as  he  always  puts  it.  I  really  ought 
not  to — but  what  won't  one  do  to  keep  some 
people  in  good  temper?" 

She  motioned  to  her  servants  to  pull  the 
piano  forward  a  little,  and  opened  it. 

"What  shall  I  sing?" 

"  'Adelaide,'  if  you  will — to  my  mind  the 
finest  picture  of  pure  love  ever  yet  composed," 
entreated  her  lover. 

"Well,  you  shall  have  it,  as  a  reward  for 
your  good  tase." 

The  Countess  began;  but  hardly  had  she 
struck  the  first  chord  when  the  melancholy 
tones  of  a  barrel-organ  came  floating  in 
through  the  open  window,  mingling  them- 
selves in  excruciating  discords  with  the  tones 
of  the  song. 

Annoyed  at  the  unexpected  interruption, 
the  Countess  sprang  up  from  the  piano. 

"It's  really  intolerable!"  she  said.  "Musi- 
cians of  this  class  are  nothing  but  vagabonds 
who  exist  for  the  sole  purpose  of  driving 
mankind  to  despair.  George" — and  she  turned 
to  one  of  her  servants — "give  the  man  a  trifle, 


Schubert  Fantasies  39 

and  tell  him  not  to  rack  our  nerves  any  more 
with  his  tunes." 

Schubert  had  no  fondness  for  this  sort  of 
liberality.  And  what  none  other  ventured,  he, 
as  a  very  old  friend  of  the  Wangenheim 
family,  dared  to  say. 

*'My  dear  Countess,"  he  said,  drawing  close 
to  her  in  the  window  niche,  "I  never  can 
reconcile  this  sort  of  giving  with  our  Chris- 
tian charity.  You  are  giving  out  of  selfish- 
ness and  not  out  of  pity,  just  to  save  your- 
self what  is  unpleasant.  Yet  perhaps  the  poor 
man,  through  no  fault  of  his  own,  is  depend- 
ent on  his  playing  to  save  himself  from  star- 
vation. I  grant  you  that  his  tune  is  a  bit  out 
of  date  and  not  particularly  pleasing  to  the 
senses,  but  there  are  potentialities  even  in  the 
barrel-organ ;  he  could  get  a  fresh  'barrel'  and 
give  us  some  of  the  modern  music.  What  say 
you" — and  here  a  sudden  thought  occurred  to 
him — "to  my  assertion,  that  you  yourself. 
Countess,  will,  before  a  week  has  flown,  if 
this  fellow  should  bring  his  organ  here  again, 
beg  him  to  repeat  the  piece  of  music  which 
he  has  played?" 

"What  a  ridiculous  idea,  Herr  Schubert!" 
exclaimed  Ludmilla,  who  was  a  little  bit  net- 


40  Schubert  Fantasies 

tied  at  the  somewhat  sharp  way  in  which,  as 
she  thought,  he  had  taken  her  up. 

''Well,  shall  we  make  a  wager  about  it. 
Countess?  This  is  my  proposal.  Should  my 
prediction  come  true,  and  you  ask  the  organ- 
grinder  to  repeat  his  tune,  you  are  to  provide 
him  with  a  small  monthly  allowance.  Should 
you,  however,  not  do  so,  then  I  shall  be  re- 
sponsible for  his  relief." 

''Gentlemen" — and  Ludmilla  turned  to  the 
company — "you  are  witnesses  of  what  has 
passed  between  Herr  Schubert  and  me ;  to- 
day week  I  invite  you  to  meet  me  here  again 
to  see  the  issue  of  the  matter." 

During  this  conversation  both  parties  had 
been  standing  at  the  window,  in  front  of  which 
a  little  play  was  being  enacted,  which  was  the 
more  disagreeable  to  Ludmilla  from  the  feel- 
ing that  Schubert's  criticism  had  been  a  just 
one. 

The  servant  George  had  just  gone  up  to 
the  organ-grinder.  It  was  a  scene  worthy  of 
Murillo.  The  poor  man,  with  his  spare  form, 
sunken  eyes,  and  pallid  face,  looked  a  pitiable 
picture  of  wretchedness  and  want ;  while  his 
white  hair  hung  like  a  worn-out  frame  round 
some  faded  picture. 

No    sooner,    however,    had    the    old    man 


Schubert  Fantasies  41 

caught  sight  of  the  magnificent  gold  livery  of 
the  servant  than  he  waved  off  the  outstretched 
hand,  hoisted  the  organ  on  his  back,  and  fled, 
as  if  for  dear  life,  to  the  neighboring  hill. 

"Countess,"  exclaimed  Schubert,  "I  simply- 
must  find  out  what  has  put  him  in  such  a 
fright !  I  feel  somehow  as  though  he  had  been 
brought  here  for  a  purpose  for  which  you  will 
ever  feel  grateful." 

He  quickly  took  leave  of  the  Countess,  and 
hurried  away.  The  latter  went  back  to  the 
piano  and  resumed  the  song  which  had  been 
so  rudely  and  unexpectedly  interrupted. 

Schubert  had  seized  his  hat  and  stick  and 
was  already  away  after  the  old  man.  If  the 
latter  had  the  advantage  of  several  minutes' 
start,  the  former  had,  at  any  rate,  the  advan- 
tage in  point  of  age.  All  at  once  he  came  in 
sight  of  a  small  knot  of  people  who,  in  reply 
to  his  question  as  to  what  was  the  matter, 
told  him  that  an  old  organ-grinder  had  fallen 
down  in  a  faint.  Pushing  his  way  through, 
he  recognized  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  The 
old  man  lay  stretched  on  the  green  turf,  with 
his  head  resting  on  the  lap  of  a  woman  who 
was  bathing  his  temples  with  a  wet  handker- 
chief. Just  then  he  opened  his  eyes,  but 
closed  them  again  through  weakness.     Schu- 


42  Schubert  Fantasies 

bert  saw  that  it  was  a  case  for  immediate  ac- 
tion, so  he  bade  two  strong  laborers  who 
were  idly  looking  on  lift  the  man  up  and  carry 
him  to  the  nearest  inn,  where  he  promised 
himself  to  see  that  the  invalid  was  cared  for. 
At  Schubert's  request  the  landlord  had  the 
unconscious  man  brought  into  a  private  room 
and  laid  on  a  couch,  and,  restoratives  being 
applied,  presently  had  the  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing him  come  slowly  round. 

"Where  am  I?  What  has  happened  to 
me?"  he  asked  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

Schubert  signed  to  the  landlord  to  leave 
them  alone,  while  the  organ-grinder's  gaze 
wandered  round  and  round  the  room  in  won- 
der, till  at  last  it  fell  on  Schubert's  kindly 
countenance.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  stopped 
short  through  exhaustion. 

''Don't  distress  yourself,  old  man,  you  are 
in  good  hands;  you  are  in  no  danger;  it  was 
onlv  a  momentary  giddiness  that  seized  you." 

"Oh,  my  poor  Catherine,"  tearfully  ex- 
claimed the  old  man,  "if  she  knew  in  what  a 
helpless  plight  I  am !  I  am  breaking  down 
under  the  burden  of  years,  and  who  will  then 
care  for  my  poor,  poor  child?" 

"Come,  come,  you'll  soon  be  all  right." 

"Ah,  sir,  you  don't  realize  how  dependent 


Schubert  Fantasies  43 

we  poor  folks  are  on  our  bodily  powers.  As 
for  me,  if  there  were  only  myself  to  think  of, 
I  should  not  care  how  soon  death  came  to  ex- 
tinguish my  light.  But  there  is  another,  a 
mere  bud,  which  must  perish  if  its  gardner 
dies,  perish  of  want,  or  be  brought,  maybe, 
to  shame.  That  is,  sir,  the  fearful  thought 
that  weighs  me  down." 

A  fresh  attack  of  faintness  seized  the  man 
as  he  lay  on  the  sofa. 

"This  man  has  seen  better  days — that  I  can 
see  at  a  glance,"  thought  Schubert.  *T  won- 
der what  his  secret  is?" 

"Yes,"  muttered  the  old  man,  "and  it  was 
that  very  look  which  I  had  so  often —  How  it 
opens  afresh  my  old  wounds !  I  saw  her  at 
the  window.  I  recognized  the  Countess  Lud- 
milla.  She  was — a  member  of  that  family." 
Then,  fearing  he  had  already  said  too  much, 
he  turned  with  a  plaintive  gesture  to  Schu- 
bert and  said,  "I'm  quite  well  now;  if  you 
will  allow  me,  I  will  proceed;  Catharine  will 
be  getting  anxious." 

"What!  You  would  go  home  alone?  Nay, 
that  cannot  be — you  have  a  long  way  to  go, 
and  are  not  very  strong  yet." 

"Oh,  but  I  do  not  live  far  from  here — only 
yonder,  where  those  farthest  cottages  stand; 


44  Schubert  Fantasies 

it  is  there  that  a  little  faithful  woman  shares 
a  crust  with  me." 

"Nay,  I  go  Avith  you  in  any  case,"  inter- 
rupted Schubert,  who  felt  some  mysterious 
influence  compelling  him  to  try  to  find  out 
more  about  the  old  man's  life,  especially  since 
he  had  heard  him  m.ention  the  name  of  the 
Countess  of  Wangenheim. 

"You  will  excuse  my  presumption,  but  I 
cannot  quite  understand  why  you,  a  stranger, 
should  display  such  goodwill  towards  me ! 
For  I  certainly  cannot  offer  you  any  return 
for  all  the  kindness  you  have  shown  me." 

"Yes,  you  can  give  me  some  information — 
but  of  that  anon." 

The  old  man  strode  up  and  down  the  room 
for  a  little,  drawing  in  the  cool  evening  air 
w^hich  was  streaming  in  through  the  open 
window ;  and  then,  feeling  that  his  strength 
had  come  back  to  him,  turned  to  Schubert 
and  said — 

"If  I  may  be  allowed  then,  I  think  I  ought 
to  go.  It's  beginning  to  get  dark,  and  Cath- 
erine always  gets  anxious  if  I  am  late  in  re- 
turning." 

They  broke  off  the  conversation  and  went 
out,  Schubert  walking  in  silence  by  the  side 


Schubert  Fantasies  45 

of  the  old  man.    Both  of  them  seemed  to  have 
plenty  to  occupy  their  minds. 

The  old  man  sighed  deeply  and  often,  as 
though  over  some  past  memories;  while  the 
composer  hummed  snatches  of  melody  to 
himself,  which  would  perhaps  one  day  be 
united  in  a  song. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  walking,  or  less, 
brought  them  to  a  halt  before  an  old  tumble- 
down cottage,  from  within  which  a  youthful 
voice  was  issuing. 

"Yes,  that's  Catherine's  voice,"  exclaimed 
the  old  man.    "Youth  insists  on  being  happy." 

"But  what  a  glorious  voice!  Do  you  know, 
old  man,  that  in  your  child  you  have  a  jewel, 
if  you  care  to  turn  her  voice  to  account?" 

"At  the  price  of  her  ruin — never,  never," 
cried  the  old  man.  "Two  years  ago,  after  I 
had  been  driven  to  seek  my  livelihood  with 
this  old  organ,  I  began  to  take  her  with  me, 
and  she  was  obliged  to  sing  to  these  grue- 
some tones.  But  if  I  can  help  it,  never  again! 
Her  beauty  draws  too  much  admiration  upon 
her." 

At  this  moment  the  young  girl  herself  ap- 
peared at  the  cottage  door,  and,  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  joy,  flew  to  his  arms.     She  was 


46  Schubert  Fantasies 

a  lovely  girl  of  not  more  than  sixteen  years, 
just  entering  upon  womanhood. 

"You  are  late,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  was  get- 
ting anxious.  You  must  be  tired.  Come 
along  in.  Supper  is  ready,  or  will  you" — she 
went  on  as  she  took  the  organ  from  his  back 
— ''spend  the  rest  of  your  evening  in  the  fresh 
air?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  we'll  do,"  said  the  old 
man  in  affectionate  tones,  "and  you  can  bring 
our  supper  into  the  garden.  But  don't  you 
see  I  have  brought  home  a  stranger?"  and  for 
the  first  time  Catherine  directed  her  glance 
toward  Schubert.  "You  must  make  the  gen- 
tleman welcome,  Catherine,  and  afterwards  I'll 
tell  you  how  much  we  are  indebted  to  him. 
Just  at  this  moment  we  are  going  to  stay  out 
here  together,  and  you  can  run  off  to  your 
work." 

The  girl  vanished  again  into  the  cottage. 

"And  now,  sir,  let  me  thank  you  once 
more,"  said  the  old  man,  "from  my  heart  for 
your  kindness  to  me." 

"But  I  hope  this  is  not  to  be  the  beginning 
and  end  of  our  friendship,  for  I  must  con- 
fess," added  Schubert,  "that  ever  since  I  set 
eyes  upon  you  I  have  been  full  of  curiosity 
about  you.     I  saw  you  reject  the  money  the 


Schubert  Fantasies  47 

Countess  Wangenheim  sent  you.  I  saw  you 
scurry  off.  Later,  I  heard  you  mention  the 
Countess's  name.  Tell  me,  there's  some  con- 
nection between  you?'*' 

*'Oh,"  sighed  the  organ-grinder,  "that's  a 
very  sad  story !  But  before  I  reply,  you  must 
allow  me  to  ask  you  a  question — are  you  a 
friend  of  the  Wangenheim  family?" 

"For  five  years  I  have  known  them  inti- 
mately." 

"In  that  case  you  know  the  name  of  Carl 
Logner?" 

"The  secretary  who " 

"Precisely,"  exclaimed  the  old  man  with  a 
distressed  look  in  his  face.  "Who  stole  from 
his  employer  the  sum  of  fifteen  thousand 
gulden,  which  he  abstracted  from  the  safe.  I 
am  the  father  of  that  unhappy  man,  and  Cath- 
erine is  his  child.  Which  said,  I  must,  for 
the  sake  of  the  dead  man's  honor,  tell  you 
more.  For  my  boy  was  innocent,  and  it  was 
unjust  suspicion  which  killed  him.  But  your 
name — may  I  not  know  it?" 

"Schubert." 

"Schubert,  the  composer?" 

"The  same." 

"The  man  of  warm  heart  and  fervid  imagi- 
nation.    Come,  then,   let's  go  into  the  poor 


48  Schubert  Fantasies 

man's  garden,  for  even  he  has  a  bit  of  grass 
and  a  flower  or  two  which  he  dignifies  by 
that  name,  and  there  you  shall  have  the  whole 
story." 

''My  dear  Logner,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad 
to  hear  everything  you  will  tell  me." 

They  walked  down  into  the  garden,  as  it 
was  called,  where  stood  a  wooden  bench  and 
table.  There  they  sat  together  like  old 
friends.  The  clock  from  the  village  of  Het- 
zendorp  struck.  The  old  man  reverently 
raised  his  cap  and  silently  uttered  a  short 
evening  prayer. 

"Now,"  said  he,  ''for  my  tale.  And  when  I 
have  finished,  blame  Carl  if  you  will,  but  not 
before." 

"I  was  steward  at  one  of  the  many  country 
seats  which  belong  to  the  Wangenheim 
family,  and  I  served  my  employer  loyally  for 
forty  years.  The  Count  had  other  interests, 
and  the  management  of  the  entire  estate  de- 
volved almost  wholly  upon  me.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  I  moved  into  this  town,  and  the 
only  regret  I  had  in  doing  so  lay  in  the  fact 
that  I  could  not  bring  my  wife  with  me,  as 
she  had  died  a  couple  of  years  before  my  re- 
moval. The  change  of  abode  was  rendered 
necessary  by  the  education  of  my  son   Carl, 


Schubert  Fantasies  49 

to  whom,  thanks  to  the  thrifty  life  I  had  led, 
I  was  able  to  give  every  possible  advantage 
for  the  training  both  of  his  mind  and  body. 
Well  was  I  rewarded.  The  lad  turned  out 
even  better  than  m}-  expectations;  so  that, 
as  soon  as  he  had  completed  his  studies,  he 
was  sent  for  by  the  Count,  who,  in  recogni- 
tion of  my  long  services  in  his  house,  took 
him,  and,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  made  him  his 
secretary.  Not  long  afterwards  he  met  a  girl 
who,  though  poor,  was  in  every  way  admir- 
able, and  in  course  of  time  she  became  his 
wife. 

"Unfortunately,  the  very  day  that  Catherine 
was  born,  her  mother  died,  and  from  that 
date  the  dark  shadow  of  misfortune  grew 
blacker  and  blacker  over  the  hitherto  happy 
fortunes  of  the  family. 

"Carl  took  the  loss  of  his  young  wife  very 
deeply  to  heart,  and  began  not  to  show  the 
same  thoroughness  in  his  work  as  formerly. 
He  had  already  on  several  occasions  had  to 
gloss  over  the  small  errors  in  the  accounts. 
But  it  was  on  November  25th,  the  anniver- 
sary of  his  wife's  death,  that,  having  been  to 
pay  a  visit  at  her  grave,  he  found  the  Count's 
son  awaiting  his  return,  and  pacing  up  and 
down  the  office  in  a  state  of  agitation  border- 


50  Schubert  Fantasies 

ing  on  frenzy.  As  scK>n  as  the  young  Count 
saw  him  he  closed  the  door  and  fell  on  his 
knees  before  Carl,  imploring  him  for  pity's 
sake  to  save  him  from  disgrace  and  dishonor. 
'If  I  cannot/  he  said,  iay  hands  on  15,000 
gulden  within  the  next  half  hour,  in  order  to 
redeem  a  promissory  note  to  which,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  folly  and  recklessness,  I  have  put  my 
father's  name,  I  am  a  lost  man!  You  know 
my  father,  and  how  punctilious  he  is  where- 
his  honor  is  concerned.  Yet  I  feel  certain 
that  if  I  can  only  meet  this  bill,  he  will  not 
refuse  to  pardon  me  when  I  confess  all. 
Within  twenty-four  hours  I  promise  to  speak 
with  my  father,  and  he  will  be  grateful  to- 
you  for  acting  so  promptly  to  save  my  honor. 
Meanwhile,  for  your  immediate  protection,  I 
shall  give  you,  my  dear  Logner,  this  written 
receipt  I  have  here,  which  states  that  you 
have  handed  over  the  sum  to  me  for  my  bene- 
fit.' 

"He  laid  a  sealed  letter  upon  the  table. 
Carl,  not  thinking  of  treachery,  but  only  oc- 
cupied with  the  young  man's  distress,  decided 
that  the  old  Count  would  probably  be  grati- 
fied at  finding  him  so  anxious  to  protect  his 
name,  and  accordingly  handed  over  the  neces- 
sary sum  of  money  to  the  importunate  youth,. 


Schubert  Fantasies  51 

No  sooner  had  Eugen  received  the  money 
than  he  hurried  away  as  fast  as  his  legs  would 
carry  him.  Carl  took  the  receipt  and  put  it, 
just  as  it  was,  within  the  safe,  not  without 
some  qualms  of  uneasiness  for  which  at  the 
time  he  could  not  quite  account. 

''Next  day,  going  to  his  office  as  usual,  he 
noticed,  as  he  passed,  an  unusual  stir  in  the 
Count's  house;  all  the  servants  were  stand- 
ing in  groups,  and  were  whispering  together 
in  subdued  voices.  As  he  made  his  way 
through  in  order  to  gain  the  apartments 
which  were  set  aside  for  the  business  of  the 
estate,  he  was  about  to  inquire  the  reason  for 
this  commotion,  when  a  servant  came  up  and 
in  an  excited  whisper  informed  him  that  that 
night  the  young  Count  had  absconded,  leav- 
ing behind  him  a  huge  number  of  debts,  par- 
ticulars of  which  he  had  specified  in  a  letter 
to  his  father. 

''Lightly  spoken  though  they  were,  the 
words  resounded  like  the  trump  of  doom  in 
Carl's  ears.  Half  fainting,  he  threw  open  the 
doors  of  the  safe,  unsealed  the  envelope  which 
Eugen  had  given  him  the  previous  day,  and 
found— a  blank  sheet !  Stunned  by  the  stroke, 
he  was  lying  almost  unconscious  before  the 
safe   when   the    Count    entered.     What    fol- 


52  Schubert  Fantasies 

lowed,  Herr  Schubert,  you  can  but  too  well 
imagine.  Carl  asserted  his  innocence.  The 
Count  listened  to  his  tale  with  incredulity. 
'Why,'  said  he,  'should  I  believe  that  he 
whom  till  yesterday  I  called  by  the  name  of 
son  really  gave  you  this?'  Utterly  prostrated 
by  the  misfortune,  Carl  was  brought  home 
that  evening  in  a  carriage.  Next  day  symp- 
toms of  fever  appeared,  and  ten  days  later  he 
died,  without  being  able  to  recognize  either 
his  father  or  child. 

"And  now  I,  a  grey-headed  old  man,  stood 
alone — alone  by  the  cradle  of  my  grandchild. 
To  make  matters  worse,  while  Carl  was  ill  I 
had  received  a  communication  from  the  new 
secretary  who  was  put  in  his  place,  in  which 
I  was  informed  that  in  recollection  of  my  past 
services,  the  Count  did  not  feel  inclined  to 
take  any  legal  proceedings,  or  to  hold  any  in- 
quiry whatever ;  but  that  the  money  I  had  ad- 
vanced to  cover  the  loss  of  the  missing  sum 
must  be  forfeited.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that 
I  begged  for  an  audience  of  the  Count.  They 
simply  gave  me  to  understand  that  the  Count 
had  done  enough  by  consenting  to  keep  si- 
lence over  the  affair,  and  that  he  refused  to 
re-open  discussion  on  a  matter  which  was  so 
disagreeable  to  him. 


Schubert  Fantasies  53 

"The  pain  I  experienced  at  the  loss  of  my 
only  son  and  at  the  stigma  placed  upon  his 
name  had  the  effect  of  bringing  a  serious  ill- 
ness upon  me,  and  I  had  to  spend  some  time 
in   the    hospital.      On   coming    out   into    the 
world  again,  I  found  that  my  tiny  income  did 
not  suffice  for  one-half  of  the  barest  necessi- 
ties of  life.     The  secret  of  my  son's  misfor- 
tune had  been  well  kept,  but  nothing  could 
prevent  it  from  leaking  out.    The  consequence 
was,  no  one  would  help  me,  and  it  became  a 
question  of  bare  existence  for  myself  and  my 
little  grandchild.     At  last,  in  despair,  I  took 
all   that   remained  of  my   capital,   bought   an 
organ,  and  went  with  it  from  house  to  house. 
I   played   dances   while   my   heart   bled;   and 
every  note  that  I   drew  from  my  instrument 
cried  out  for  bread— bread  for  Catherine  and 
me.     As  the  child    grew    older  I    discovered 
what  a  voice  she  had,  and   I   taught  her  to 
sing  little  songs  to  the  airs  I  played,  the  words 
of  which   I   composed.     But   as   she   got   still 
bigger,    my     whole     nature     began    to    rebel 
against  bringing  her  up  to  this  kind  of  life, 
and  making  my  little  grandchild  into  a  street 
vagabond.     And  so-I  jog  on  alone— for  how 
long,   I    know  not— only    He    can    tell  Who 
clothes  the  lilies  of  the  field,  and  suffers  not 


54  Schubert  Fantasies 

that  a  single  sparrow  should  fall  unheeded  to 
the  ground. 

"It  was  a  mere  accident  that  led  me  to  the 
"house  where  I  once  more  set  eyes  on  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Wangenheim  family;  the  rest  you 
know.  Oh,  sir,  I  have  gone  through  much; 
the  picture  of  my  past  is  dark  enough,  but 
darker  still  is  that  which  the  future  presents 
to  my  gaze." 

The  old  man  ceased,  exhausted,  and  a  tear 
trickled  down  his  wasted  cheek. 

"But,  my  dear  Logner,  did  you  never  try, 
after  some  further  time  had  elapsed,  to  ap- 
proach the  Count,  or  at  any  rate  to  find  proofs 
which  might  in  some  degree  at  least  have 
cleared  Carl?  For  I  know  as  a  fact  that  the 
name  of  Eugen  is  never  mentioned  now  in 
the  Wangenheim  family,  and  that  the  old 
Count,  to  the  day  of  his  death,  would  not  have 
the  name  uttered  in  his  presence.  I  know, 
moreover,  that  the  Countess  Ludmilla  is  in 
the  secret,  and  that  only  a  short  while  ago 
she  took  steps  in  every  direction  to  discover 
your  whereabouts." 

"I  have  for  long  buried  my  tarnished  name 
under  the  seal  of  secrecy,  and  by  young  and 
old  alike  I  am  known  simply  as  'Martin,  the 
organ-grinder.'     But  you,  Herr  Schubert,  you 


Schubert  Fantasies  55 

have  heard  from  my  lips  the  history  of  my 
misfortune.  I  beg  you  then,  don't  abuse  my 
confidence,  nor  reveal  to  busybodies  what  I 
have  kept  from  them  for  so  long-." 

''Now,  Logner;  you  don't  mean  to  say  I  am 
not  to  inform  the  Countess  that  I  have  found 
you  out;  nor  to  tell  her  that  she  is  now,  by 
the  interposition  of  Providence,  in  a  position 
partly  to  right  the  grievous  wrong  done  to 
you  by  her  family?" 

''No,  never,"  cried  the  old  man.  "The 
Count  condemned  without  hearing,  and,  with- 
out proofs  against  my  son,  drove  him  to  de- 
struction." 

"Logner,  you  are  unjust.  Could  the  Count 
in  presence  of  all  his  househod,  have  acted 
differently?  Could  he  (I  do  not  wish  to  cause 
you  pain)  have  overlooked  such  an  act  of 
culpable  negligence  as  your  son  was  guilty 
of  when  he  gave  away,  even  though  it  was  to 
the  Count's  own  child,  such  a  large  sum  of 
money  on  the  strength  of  a  sealed  sheet  of 
paper?  There  are  principles  which  govern 
society,  principles  which  cannot  be  trans- 
gressed with  impunity.  You  don't  wish  me 
to  speak  with  the  Countess?  You  ought  not 
to  prevent  me — you  should  rather  urge  me  to 
do  so,  if  only  for  your  granddaughter's  sake. 


56  Schubert  Fantasies 

Ludmilla  is  the  kindest-hearted  of  creatures, 
and  if  she  helped  you  it  would  be  done  in  a 
way  that  could  not  give  you  offence.  You  are 
too  done  up  after  all  the  events  of  to-day  to 
think  quietly  over  my  proposal.  But  come  to- 
morrow and  see  me  in  my  house,"  and  Schu- 
bert took  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket 
and  wrote  his  address  upon  it,  "and  then  we 
will  talk  the  matter  over.  A  good,  good  night 
to  you,  Logner."  Schubert  grasped  the  old 
man's  hand,  which  trembled  in  his.  "Now 
don't  be  over-anxious,"  he  said,  "but  hope  for 
the  best,  and  leave  the  rest."  Then  with  a 
cheery  smile  and  a  cheery  wave  of  the  hand, 
the  composer  took  his  departure. 

"Now  for  my  song,"  he  muttered  as  he 
went  along;  "surely  this  will  be  one  of  my 
happiest  inspirations !" 

The  week  had  passed  and  gone,  and  Schu- 
bert was  once  more  in  the  Countess's  man- 
sion. He  was  sitting  beside  her  in  her  bou- 
doir on  the  sofa.  The  room  was  furnished  in 
perfect  taste,  and  the  window  opened  out  di- 
rect on  the  garden.  He  was  engaged  in  eager 
conversation  with  the  Countess. 

"Herr  Schubert,  is  this  all  true  that  you 
have  been  telling  me?  Forgive  my  saying  so, 
but  surely  you  are  not  deceiving  me?     Is  it 


Schubert  Fantasies  57 

really  the  fact  that  Logner  is  still  alive,  and 
that  I  can  now  make  good  the  wrong  which 
that  unhappy  young  youth  wrought  so  care- 
lessly?    Well,   then,   I   will   tell   you   what   I 
know  of  the  affair,  and  you  will  see  why  I 
am  so  concerned  to  change  Logner's  life  and 
place  it  under  a  luckier  star.     Two  years  ago 
I  received  a  letter  from  the  Isle  de  France,  ad- 
dressed to  my  dead  father.     The  handwriting 
was   quite   strange   to   me.      I   opened   it.      It 
was  from  a  priest  there,  who  wrote  that  more 
than  ten  years  previously  he  had  visited  a  for- 
eigner on  his   death-bed,  who  had  confessed 
to   him,   in   the   bitterest  agonies   of  remorse, 
that  he  had  caused  a  man  of  the  name  of  Log- 
ner to  become   an   innocent   accomplice  in   a 
crime   by  taking  advantage  of  his   credulity. 
He  begged    his    father  to    forgive    him,  and 
wished  him  to  be  told  that  it  was  only  the 
thought  that  he  would  see  that  justice  was 
done  to    the    poor    fellow,  which    gave  him 
courage  to  face  death   calmly.     I   have  care- 
fully  preserved   the    letter   among   my   other 
papers   in   that   desk.     You   can  testify   how, 
on  the  receipt  of  it,  I  left  no  stone  unturned 
to  trace  the  Logner  family,  but  in  vain !    And 
now,    Herr   Schubert,    through   your   agency. 


58  Schubert  Fantasies 

the  curtain  seems  likely  to  be  lifted,  and  I 
shall  at  least  be  able — " 

At  this  moment  the  sounds  of  an  organ 
were  heard,  followed,  after  a  few  bars,  by  a 
girl's  voice,  which  commenced  to  sing  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  organ.  The  song  was 
something  like  this — 

"Up  behind  the  village  stands  an  organ-man. 
And  with  stiffen'd  fingers  turns  as  best  he 

can; 
On  the  cold   ground,  barefoot,   totters   here 

and  there, 
And  his  empty  saucer  shows  that  gifts  are 

rare. 
No  one  listens  to  him,  no  one  looks  or  cares. 
Snarling  dogs  pursue  him,   still   a  smile   he 

wears. 
And  no  disappointment  does  he  once  betray, 
But  upon  the  organ  turns  and  turns  away. 
Wonderful  old  minstrel,  shall  I  go  with  you? 
Will  you  to  my  ditties  play  the  music  too?" 

"What  a  dreadfully  gloomy  song,  and  yet 
so  true  to  life !  What  simple  strength  in  that 
monotonous  melody !  Now,  how  did  that 
man  get  hold  of  a  song  like  that?  We  must 
persuade  the  musician  to  repeat  it — it  floats 
up  to  my  ear  like  a  wail  of  distress.'*  The 
Countess  hurried  to  the  window. 


\ 


Schubert  Fantasies  59 

"Ah!"  An  exclamation  of  surprise  arose 
from  the  guests  who  were  standing  near. 
"The  organ-grinder— is  it  he?"  she  asked  with 
quavering  voice. 

"He  it  is  indeed!"  replied  Schubert;  "it  is— 
the  unhappy  Logner!" 

"Come  then,  Herr  Schubert,  it  was  my 
brother  robbed  his  man  of  his  honor;  I,  his 
sister,  will  give  it  back  to  him  again." 

She  opened  the  door  and  hurried  out  so 
quickly  that  Schubert  had  difficulty  in  follow- 
ing her. 

''Logner,"    she    said,    in    strangely    pathetic 
tones,  taking  the  poor  man's  hand  and  bend- 
ing her  head  low,  "I   have   much  to  repair; 
the   honor  of  your  dead   son   is   spotless,   no 
stain  more  rests  upon  it— the  proofs  are  here. 
Your   savings,    of   which   you   were   unjustly 
deprived,  are  here  also,  intact  in  my  hands. 
For  the  bringing  up  of  that  dear  child,  your 
granddaughter,   who   stands   here   looking   so 
anxious— let  me  from  this  day  forth  take  care 
of  that.     Only  one  request  I  have  to  make, 
in  the  name  of  one  who  is  no  more,  who  on 
his  death-bed  was  filled  with  deepest  repent- 
ance— forgive  my  poor  erring  brother." 

Logner  did  not  answer;  but  falling  on  his 


6o  Schubert  Fantasies 

knees,  he  raised  his  hands  and  moistened  eyes 
to  Heaven,  and  said — 

"Lord  of  all!  Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as 
we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against  us !" 

Schubert,  the  while,  stood  reverently  by; 
and  he  too,  in  that  thrilling  moment,  when 
the  feud  of  years  was  laid  aside,  and  the 
travel-stained  wayfarer  reached  his  home  at 
last,  thanked  God  who  had  given  him  the 
means,  by  the  divine  power  of  music,  of 
awakening  the  souls  of  men  to  beautiful 
thoughts,  and  of  inspiring  them  to  what  was 
good  and  true. 


THE  ANGLER 


THE  ANGLER 

TRY  to  hide  it  as  you     may,    dear     Franz, 
I   can  read  in  your  face  too    clearly    that 
you  are  troubled  by  the  same      thought    which 
weighs  so  heavily  upon  me.    We  are  both^  of 
us  being  punished  for  our  too  great  affection 
for  our  boy,  to  whom  we  have  been  foolishly 
indulgent.     He  is  in  love— now    that    I  have 
mentioned  the  subject  I  may  as  well  disguise 
nothing— he  is  in  love,  or    thinks    himself  in 
love,  with  the  widow  of  the  Banker  Westen- 
holz,  of  Berlin,  who  only  came  to  live  here  a 
short  time  ago.     You  know  how  Henry  has 
been  brought  up ;  how  we  have  tried  to  shield 
him,  like  a  tender  plant,  from  every  storm,  and 
now— how  is  it  possible  that  he  can  ever  be 
happy  with  this  worldly  coquette?" 

The  speaker  was  Helen  Lohenstein,  the  w^ife 
of  a  rich  manufacturer,  and  as  she  spoke  she 
looked  anxiously  at  her  husband,  as  she 
handed  him  his  morning  cup  of  coffee. 

It  was  eight  o'clock,  and  both  were  in  the 
dining  room,  which  was  comfortably  fur- 
nished, without  being  in  any  way  luxurious. 
They  had  arrived  at  an  age  when  married  life 
begins  to  assume  a  new  aspect:  it  has  lost  its 
passionate,  lava-like  glow,  but  the  course  of 

63 


64  Schubert  Fantasies 

love  runs  deeper  and  more  tranquilly  along. 
At  the  present  moment  both  their  faces  were 
clouded  over  with  anxiety ;  and  it  was  quite 
plain,  from  their  gloomy  looks,  that  there  was 
something  which  threatened  to  come  between 
them  and  their  son. 

Hitherto,  nothing  could  have  been  more 
happy  or  comfortable  than  their  little  house- 
hold of  three.  Henry,  the  only  child  of  their 
marriage,  which  took  place  thirty  years  ago, 
was  the  very  apple  of  their  eye.  He  was  al- 
v/ays  in  to  dinner  in  the  evening,  full  of  en- 
thusiasm about  his  work,  and  ready  to  discuss 
with  his  parents  all  the  news  of  the  day, 
whether  it  was  some  piece  of  financial  news 
which  he  had  brought  for  his  father,  or  some 
recent  fashion  or  bit  of  social  gossip  for  his 
mother,  and  in  the  morning  they  would  al- 
ways have  a  half-hour's  chat  together  before 
he  went  out  to  his  work. 

Now  all  was  changed.  There  sat  his  par- 
ents, all  alone,  with  sorrow  in  their  hearts. 
Even  at  the  breakfast-table  Henry's  face  was 
missing;  he  was  still  lying  in  bed,  trying  to 
get  rest  after  his  dissipation  of  the  prevous 
day,  and  to  fortify  himself  for  fresh  excite- 
ments on  the  morrow.     His  parents'  warning 


Schubert  Fantasies  65 

had  no  weight  with  him ;  he  had  only  ears  for 
the  seductive  tones  of  a  modern  Circe. 

Six  months  ago  he  had  met  her  at  a  fancy- 
dress  ball,  disguised  under  a  black  domino ; 
and  from  that  moment  Henry  had  been  capti- 
vated and  had  become  her  slave.  This  domino 
hid  the  face  of  Augusta  Westenholz. 

In  her  first  youth  she  had  been  a  dancer  at 
the  Theatre  Royal  in  Berlin,  where  she  had 
picked  up  the  most  extravagant  ideas.  The 
old  banker,  Westenholz,  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her  and  married  her.  But  it  was  the  talk 
of  all  Berlin  that  she  had  never  attempted  to 
be  true  to  the  old  man  who  had  led  her  to  the 
altar. 

After  his  death,  which  occurred  not  more 
than  a  year  after  her  marriage,  the  young 
widow,  now  a  rich  heiress,  went  to  Paris,  os- 
tensibly to  find  comfort  in  her  trouble,  really 
that  she  might  drink  the  dazzling  cup  of  pleas- 
ure to  its  very  dregs.  But  these  delights  soon 
palled,  and  time  was  flying.  Her  soul  desired 
new  joys  and  new  conquests,  and  so  she  turned 
her  attention  to  Vienna. 
I  Henry,  young  and  innocent,  was  caught  in 

the  meshes  of  her  net.  His  youth,  manly  ap- 
pearance, and  the  buoyancy  of  his  spirits, 
charmed  the  withered  heart  of  the  widow.  She 


66  Schubert  Fantasies 

longed  for  fresh  triumphs  on  the  field  of  co- 
quetry. She  pretended  that  he  had  vanquished 
her,  and  made  her  his  life-long  slave.  The 
trick  succeeded  but  too  well ! 

''Helen,  you  break  the  seal  upon  my  heart,'' 
replied  Lohenstein,  tenderly  looking  into  his 
wife's  eyes,  now  wet  with  tears.  ''You  have 
loosened  the  chain  of  silence  which  fettered 
me.  For  months  I  have  longed  to  speak  to  you, 
and  it  has  only  been  my  love  a^d  consideration, 
for  you  which  has  enabled  me  to  restrain  my- 
self, and  not  to  give  you  pain  by  discussing 
Henry's  unhappy  infatuation.  But  now  that 
you  have  broken  the  ice,  and  I  see  you  have 
noticed  the  change  in  the  lad,  we  might  as  well 
speak  without  any  reserve.  It  has  all  taken 
place  during  the  last  six  months,  and  there  he 
is  at  the  feet  of  this  worldly  woman,  swearing 
everlasting  love  for  her,  while  she  is  all  the 
time  laughing  at  his  inexperience,  and  daily, 
nay  hourly,  playing  him  false.  Her  so-called 
affection  for  Henry  is  merely  the  outcome  of 
her  unbridled  vanity.  After  she  has  played 
with  so  many  hearts,  made  of  base  metal  like 
her  own,  it  is  a  new  charm  for  her  to  find  her- 
self really  loved  and  adored.  As  for  Henry, 
he  is  deaf  to  every  warning.  I  know,  Helen, 
that  you  have  already  spoken  with  him,  and 


Schubert  Fantasies  67 

counselled  him,  as  his  mother,  to  keep  clear 
of  a  connection  with  a  creature  like  that.  Tell 
me,  what  did  he  say  to  you?" 

''Say,  Franz?  That  we,  his  own  parents,  are 
envious  of  his  good  fortune!"  said  Frau  Lo- 
henstein,  with  trembling  voice,  as  the  tears 
trickled  down  her  cheek.  "I  am  afraid  there 
is  no  help  for  it.  A  few  more  days,  and  he  will 
bring  her  here  as  his  fiancee,  to  be  introduced 
to  us  as  our  daughter.  Alas,  that  he  is  of  age, 
and  free  to  do  what  he  will.  Otherwise,  we 
would  have  found  some  way  to  prevent  this 
act  of  madness.  As  it  is,  we  have  no  power, 
and  the  foolish  boy  must  do  what  he  likes." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

'*A  visitor,  Helen!  Dry  your  eyes.  No  one 
must  guess  that  you  are  troubled  about  your 
son."  And  with  a  cheerful  voice  the  old  man 
exclaimed,  ''Come  in!" 

The  doors  opened,  and  into  the  room 
marched  Schubert,  who  had  been  for  long  an 
intimate  and  very  esteemed  friend  of  the  fam- 
ily. 

"Good  morning,  Schubert,"  and  with  these 
words  the  master  of  the  house  rose  to  meet  the 
visitor,  and  to  give  him  hearty  greeting,  which 
was  cordially  echoed  by  his  wife.     The  very 


68  Schubert  Fantasies 

moment  that  Schubert  had  entered,  she  had 
undergone  a  quite  wonderful  transformation. 
It  was  as  though  a  warm  ray  of  sun  had  fallen 
upon  her,  making  her  stricken  heart  glow  and 
beat  with  renewed  hope.  She  had  only  to 
look  on  Schubert's  kindly  counte  nance  to  feel 
that  life  was  not  all  gloom,  but  that  there  was 
a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud;  and  with  great 
friendliness  she  offered  the  great  musician  a 
seat  by  her  side. 

Schubert  took  the  chair  that  was  offered 
him  without  saying  a  word.  A  pause  ensued. 
At  last  he  made  up  his  mind,  and  with  an  ex- 
pression which  he  tried  to  make  appear  indif- 
ferent, as  though  he  dreaded  to  strike  a  harsh 
chord,  he  said:  "My  friends,  I  trust  it  is  not 
true  what  I  have  heard,  that  Henry  is  going 
to  get  married,  and  that  his  choice  has  fallen 
upon  Frau  von  Westenholz,  a  choice" — here 
Schubert's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper — "which 
cannot,  I  am  sure  have  your  approval." 

A  nod  of  the  head  on  the  part  of  the  parents 
was  the  only  answer  to  Schubert's  question. 

''Then  is  it  true,"  continued  Schubert,  "that 
that  nice  young  fellow  has  really  quite  decided 
to  make  himself  and  his  friends  unhappy? 
This  proposed  connection  is  already  talked 
about  wherever  you  are  known,  and  people  are 


Schubert  Fantasies  69 

pitying  both  you  and  him.  But  I  cannot  and 
will  not  think — but  surely  you,  his  parents,  or 
his  best  friends,  can  do  something  to  prevent 
him,  dazzled  for  the  moment  by  her  brilliancy, 
from  rushing  upon  his  own  destruction.  If  the 
wise  counsel  of  his  father  does  not  avail,  then 
I  am  certain  he  will  at  least  yield  to  the  heart- 
felt solicitations  of  his  mother." 

"Now,  how  can  a  father's  advice,  or  a  moth- 
er's prayers  avail,  while  the  music  of  that 
shameless  woman's  voice  sounds  in  his  ears?" 
said  the  old  man,  bitterly. 

"Schubert,  if  you  are  really  our  friend,"  ex- 
claimed the  mother,  seizing  Schubert  eagerly 
by  the  hand,  "then  you  will  speak  with  Henry. 
It  is  through  you  that  he  has  become 
acquainted  with  the  power  that  lies  in  music. 
Your  songs  have  before  now  reached  the  road 
to  his  heart.  He  values  and  loves  you,  both 
as  a  friend  and  as  his  teacher.  It  may  be  that 
he  would  listen  to  your  warning,  even  when 
his  ear  is  deaf  to  the  counsels  of  father  and 
mother.  Schubert,  Schubert!  do  try  to  save 
my  son.  A  voice  within  me  tells  me  that  you 
can, 

"You  have  too  much  faith  in  my  powers,  but 
I  can  make  the  attempt.  But  if  I  succeed, 
thank  not  me,  but  Him  who  has  chosen  me  as 


70  Schubert  Fantasies 

the  weak  instrument  of  his  will.  If  you  think 
that  Henry  is  still  susceptible  to  music,  as  he 
was  in  former  days,  perhaps  the  muse  might 
provide  us  with  a  means  of  healing  the  sick. 
But  how  exactly  to  bring  it  to  pass  I  don't  see 
clearly  as  yet.  Only,  as  Fate  has  apparently 
thrust  upon  me  the  role  of  physician,  it  is  to  be 
"hoped  she  will  also  give  me  the  strength  to  ef- 
fect the  cure." 

Some  days  had  passed  since  Schubert's  visit 
to  the  Lohensteins,  and  nothing  had  occurred 
to  ease  the  situation  between  parents  and  son. 
If  possible,  Henry  was  entangled  more  than 
ever  before  in  the  meshes  of  Augusta,  innocent 
of  the  danger  that  awaited  him  there.  At  this 
very  moment,  unable  to  shake  off  the  spell,  he 
was  lying  at  full  length  in  his  room  on  a  luxu- 
rious couch,  indulging  in  idle  day-dreams.  Al- 
though the  hand  of  the  clock  which  hung  over 
his  writing-desk  already  pointed  to  eleven,  it 
was  quite  clear  that  he  himself  had  only  just 
awaked  to  the  fact  that  it  was  day.  The  room 
was  all  disordered  with  the  litter  of  the  pre- 
vious evening —  here  a  coat,  there  a  white  tie ; 
in  one  corner  gloves,  in  another  an  opera  hat. 
On  the  writing-desk  itself  lay  his  watch  and 
purse,  and  by  their  side  a  bow  of  bright  red 
silk,   with   a   pin    sticking  sharply   out  of  it, 


Schubert  Fantasies  71 

which  had  evidently  found  its  way  to  his  room 
as  the  result  of  a  pious  theft. 

To  the  completion  of  the  picture  of  disorder, 
the  owner  of  the  room  certainly  contributed 
his  share,  for  there,  attired  in  a  dark  dressing- 
gown,  which  only  served  to  bring  out  still 
more  clearly  his  pallor,  lay  Henry,  with 
white  face,  drawn  eyes,  sunken  cheeks,  and  dis- 
hevelled hair.  Beside  him  stood  his  break- 
fast, untasted.  He  preferred  the  cigar  which 
glowed  between  his  lips. 

The  whole  scene  bore  witness  to  the  lazy 
and  wasted  life  he  was  leading,  and  to  the  dis- 
sipation which  was  sapping  all  the  manhood 
from  his  young  vigorous  frame.  There  was 
just  one  object  in  the  room,  untainted  as  yet 
by  the  poisonous  atmosphere,  still  sweet  to  the 
sense,  and  a  pleasure  to  the  eye,  the  one  touch 
of  Nature — which  was  left,  in  all  her  truth  and 
purity — it  was  a  magnificent  bouquet  of  roses, 
camellias,  and  hyacinths.  This  morning 
Augusta  was  going  to  give  a  reception,  and 
Henry  had  bought  the  flowers  to  send  to  her 
in  token  of  his  unalterable  afifection,  little 
guessing  that  at  the  same  time  she  was  to  re- 
ceive a  similar  offering  from  a  Colonel  of  Hus- 
sars in  the  same  town,  Arthur  von  Werner. 


72  Schubert  Fantasies 

And  as  he  gazed  at  the  flowers,  he  dropped 
into  a  soliloquy : 

"Now,  beloved,  now  I  begin  at  last  to  know 
and  understand  you,  and  therefore  to  know 
and  understand  what  life  is !  Only  since 
I  saw  Augusta  have  I  known  what  a  woman's 
charm  can  be.  So  happy  am  I  in  possession  of 
her  love,  and  yet  my  parents  are  so  opposed 
to  our  connection.  It  must  be  a  whim — no, 
more  likely  their  anxiety  for  my  welfare —  but, 
after  all,  such  overweening  affection  becomes 
a  burden.  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  and  I  must 
be  allowed  some  opinion  of  my  own.  As  to 
Augusta " 

But  at  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
Schubert  walked  in.  Henry  looked  up  and 
recognized  his  friend  and  teacher. 

"Ah,  Franz !"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  in 
a  free  and  easy  tone,  "how  are  you?  Excuse 
my  rising,  but  that  ball  I  was  at  last  night  has 
simply  exhausted  me,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"No,  remain  where  you  are,  Henry,  and 
don't  let  me  disturb  you.  We  are  too  good 
friends  to  need  any  ceremony  between  us.  At 
least,  you  regard  me  as  your  friend,  I  hope?" 

"And  yet  a  costly  one,  Schubert,  considering 
how  rare  your  visits  are.  Yes,  yes,  I  know 
your  time  is  a  good  deal  taken  up." 


Schubert  Fantasies  73 

"Not  more  than  yours,  Henry.  I  can  scarce- 
ly ever  find  you  at  home.  I've  come  again  and 
again,  but  in  vain — come  to  scold  you  for  hav- 
ing secrets  from  your  friend.  You  are  en- 
engaged  to  be  married,  yet  allow  me  to  dis- 
cover the  news  by  chance,  through  a  friend  !'* 

Henry  blushed  right  up  to  the  eyes ;  but 
Schubert,  without  appearing  to  notice  his  em- 
barrassment, proceeded : 

''I'm  all  excitement  to  know  on  whom  your 
choice  has  fallen.  She  is,  of  course,  very 
beautiful,  and  adorned  with  every  possible 
charm.  She  will  also  do  credit  to  your  taste 
in  her  virtues,  for  the  beauty  of  her  person 
will  only  be  equalled  by  the  transparency  of 
her  soul.  When  all  is  so  perfect,  a  happy  life 
is  assured  you." 

''Augusta  is  a  splendid  creature,"  said 
Henry,  not  without  betraying  some  little  nerv- 
ousness in  his  manner. 

*'And  of  course  your  parents  are  delighted 
at  your  bringing  them  such  a  charming 
daughter?" 

"Alas,  Franz !  I  should  be  only  too  happy  if 
that  were  the  case.  But  my  parents  have  to 
combat  with  their  prejudices." 

"Perhaps   'tis  only  their  care  for  you — the 


74  Schubert  Fantasies 

affection  of  parents  for  their  child,"  inter- 
rupted Schubert. 

"No  doubt  they  care  for  my  welfare,  but 
they  look  through  distorted  glasses.  Augusta 
is  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  has  a  quite  dif- 
ferent point  of  view  of  life  from  theirs.  But  I 
am  convinced  that  my  parents  will  never  have 
occasion  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  our  love, 
and — but  let's  have  done  with  this  talk,  which 
leaves  an  unpleasant  taste  in  the  mouth,  and 
choose  another  subject.  For  instance,  Augusta 
is  an  ardent  admirer  of  your  songs,  and  thinks 
no  end  of  you  as  a  composer ;  so  that,  when 
she  heard  you  were  a  friend  of  mine,  I  had  to 
promise  that  I  would  introduce  you  to  her  at 
the  first  opportunity." 

"Oh,  if  she  knows  of  me  as  a  composer,  that 
comes  in  quite  handy;  for  it  so  happens  I  have 
just  completed  a  song,  which  you  can  sing 
over  to  her;  and  should  she  happen  to  like  it, 
it  shall  be  dedicated  to  her." 

"That  is  a  splendid  idea,  Schubert.  As  to 
whether  she  will  approve  of  it,  there  is  no 
question  about  that.  A  song  with  your  name 
on  the  front  of  it  is  certain  of  a  welcome  from 
her.  Bring  it  to  me,  if  you  will,  and  without 
delay  I  will  pass  it  over  to  Augusta." 

"I  have  it  here,  all  ready,  in  my  pocket." 


Schubert  Fantasies  75 

"Then  give  me  it  at  once,"  exclaimed  Henry, 
springing  up  from  the  couch,  "and  I  will  im- 
mediately send  it  along  with  this  bouquet; 
that  will  make  the  gift  twice  as  valuable." 

"Stay,  one  moment!  On  one  condidion  only 
do  I  give  you  this  song." 

"And  that  is?" 

"That  you  sing  it  over  to  me  before  you  send 
it  away,  as  I  myself  haven't  heard  it  yet.  I 
have  only  written  it  out,  but  don't  know  what 
sort  of  effect  it  will  produce,  and  I  am  curi- 
ous." 

"What's  the  name  of  the  song?" 

"  'The  Angler.'  It  is  a  well-known  poem 
of  Goethe's,  in  which  the  mermaid  takes  the 
Angler  in  her  embrace,  and  draws  him  down 
into  those  profound  depths  from  which  escape 
IS  unthinkable.  It  is  the  type  of  a  life  befouled 
by  sin,  in  which  man's  lust  is  dragging  him 
down  and  destroying  his  nature." 

Henry  threw  a  doubtful  glance  at  his  friend ; 
but  the  latter  unconcernedly  continued: 

"Henry,  open  the  piano;  it's  simply  ages 
since  I  heard  your  voice,  and  the  song  lies 
splendidly  in  the  compass  of  a  tenor.  Do  give 
it  a  trial  now ;  and  if  you  then  like  it,  you  can 
send  it  off  to  your  beloved  forthwith." 

Henry  opened  the  piano. 


76  Schubert  Fantasies 

"I  will  accompany  you,"  said  Schubert,  as 
he  seated  himself  at  the  instrument. 

"I  am  curious  to  see  what  effect  your  latest 
composition  will  have." 

''Heaven  grant  a  deterrent  one,"  murmured 
Schubert,  as  his  fingers  wandered  over  the  first 
few  notes  of  the  song. 

Henry  began  to  sing.  At  first,  his  voice 
sounded  a  little  bit  thick  and  tired;  but,  pres- 
ently, his  good  method  triumphed ;  and  to  the 
credit  of  his  master,  be  it  said,  the  pupil  was 
able  to  hide  the  slight  unevenness  of  his  sing- 
ing. He  had,  besides,  an  excellently  clear  pro- 
nunciation, and  he  sung  with  an  artistic  per- 
ception into  the  meaning  of  the  words  which 
only  a  really  great  singer  possesses.  With  in- 
telligence all  awake,  Henry  sang  the  three  first 
verses. 

"The  air  in  this  room  is  very  oppressive — 
do  you  mind,  Schubert,  if  I  open  the  window?" 

He  took  a  hasty  stride  up  and  down  the 
room,  as  though  trying  to  battle  with  the  ex- 
citement of  his  feelings,  then  he  threw  open 
the  window. 

"Won't  you  go  on  to  the  end  of  the  song?" 

Henry  seemed  to  be  deaf.  He  leaned  up 
against  the  window  like  a  statue  and  stared 
out  into  space. 


Schubert  Fantasies  jy 

Just  at  this  moment  the  servant  entered, 
bringing  in  on  a  tray  a  letter,  enclosed  in  a 
delicately-folded  envelope. 

"From  Frau  von  Westenholz — the  messen- 
ger will  wait  for  a  reply." 

Henry  opened  the  note  hastily,  and  read: 

"My  dear  Friend, 

"It  is  only  a  few  of  my  best  friends  who 
have  consented  to  devote  themselves  to  me 
this  evening,  and  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
some  music.  You  know,  dear  Henry,  how  I 
sympathize  with  you,  that  we  cannot  spend 
it  together  alone.  But  you  will  readily  under- 
stand that  social  life  has  some  claims  upon  us. 
That  your  presence  among  us  will  make  me 
feel  my  own  loss  the  less  you  may  rest  assured, 
for  you  know  how  Augusta  loves  you." 

"This  is  quite  excellent !"  exclaimed  Henry, 
as  he  laid  the  letter  on  the  table.  "Listen  to 
this,  Schubert.  My  mistress  has  arranged,  so 
she  writes  to  me,  for  a  sort  of  small  concert 
to-night.  I  shall  take  you  there,  introduce  you 
to  our  worthy  hostess.  You  consent,  Franz?" 
he  added,  seeing  that  Schubert  looked  pleased 
at  the  turn  of  events. 

"Certainly  I  consent,"  replied  the  other. 
"Of  course  you  will  sing  my  song  there  which, 
now  that  I've  heard  you  sing  it,  will  find,  I  feel 


78  Schubert  Fantasies 

sure,  universal  acceptance,  especially  if  you 
take  it  so  seriously  as  you  did  here.  I  greatly 
approve  of  your  conception  of  it,  and  am  con- 
vinced that  Frau  von  Westenholz  will  be 
most  agreeably  surprised." 

"I  will  send  on  this  answer  to  Augusta  at 
once,  and  warn  her  what  pleasure  she  has  to 
expect  from  your  appearance  in  her  drawing- 
room  to-day." 

"And  I,"  replied  Schubert,  as  he  took  up  the 
song  from  the  piano-rest,  ''will  write  out  a 
fresh  copy  of  my  composition.  I  shall  enjoy 
myself  in  a  very  special  manner  this  evening, 
because  I  anticipate  for  you,  Henry,  without 
the  least  doubt,  a  great  triumph." 

''Then  so  be  it.  I  expect  you  at  eight  o'clock 
punctually,  and  then  we'll  go  from  here  to- 
gether. But  is  it  prudent  of  me  to  introduce 
you  to  my  fiancee?  An  artist  and  composer 
besides.     Is  it  not  a  dangerous  combination?" 

"But  the  artist  and  composer  is  also  your 
friend." 

With  these  words  the  two  men  s^eparated. 

In  the  drawing-room  of  Augusta  von  Westen- 
holz all  the  usual  preparations  were  completed 
for  her  musical  evening.  The  piano  had  been 
drawn  into  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  the 
chairs  were  arranged  round  it  in  a  circle.    The 


Schubert  Fantasies  79 

lamps  were  brilliantly  reflected  in  the  polished 
mirrors,  and  on  the  great  hanging  candelabra 
all  the  lights  were  burning.  Light  and  warmth 
were  diffused  everywhere ;  a  fire  of  red-hot 
wood  crackled  on  the  hearth,  and  only  the 
costly  rugs  lay  uncared  for,  put  out  of  the  way 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  so  that  when  the  music 
was  done,  tribute  might  be  paid  to  the  goddess 
of  the  dance. 

The  OAvner  of  all  this  magnificence  was  al- 
ready seated  upon  the  sofa,  ready,  as  the  ap- 
pointed hour  arrived,  to  welcome  her  guests. 

Augusta  von  Westenholz  was  certainly  of 
strikinor  beautv.  Her  features  Vv'ere  cast  in 
classic  mould,  and  displayed  a  temper  more 
fitted  to  command  than  to  obey.  Her  raven 
locks  and  dark  eyebrows  only  served  to  bring 
out  the  more  clearly  the  wonderful  fairness  of 
her  complexion,  while  her  eyes  could  dart 
gleams  of  fiery  indignation,  or  sing  wild  songs 
of  love.  The  half-opened,  voluptuous  mouth 
displayed  within  its  coral  frame  a  dancing  row 
of  pearls.  Her  whole  mien  pronounced  her  a 
priestess  of  Venus  rather  than  of  Vesta.  Au- 
gusta was,  in  fact,  the  very  type  which  Schil- 
ler imagined  in  his  picture  of  Julia  Doria,  Les- 
sing  in  his  picture  of  Orsina,  and  Goethe  in  his 
Adelheid  von  Walldorf. 


8o  Schubert  Fantasies 

For  this  evening  Augusta  had  selected  a 
very  beautiful,  if  somewhat  theatrical,  attire. 
The  symmetry  of  her  figure  was  well  set  off 
by  a  white  flowing  dress  of  silk,  on  both  sides 
of  which  red  camellias  were  arranged,  within 
whose  flowers  rare  jewels  glistened  like  drops 
of  dew.  In  her  dark  hair  the  like  kind  of  flower 
was  also  to  be  seen,  the  green  leaves  of  which 
were  half  swallowed  up  in  her  tresses,  which 
half  concealed  and  half  displayed  her  graceful 
neck,  dazzling  in  its  snowy  whiteness.  A  fra- 
grant bunch  of  flowers,  adorned  with  a  gold 
holder,  completed  her  outfit,  and  with  this  she 
toyed  playfully.  The  bouquet  greatly  resem- 
bled the  one  we  have  already  seen  in  Henry's 
rooms. 

At  her  side,  arrayed  in  full  regimentals,  sat 
the  Colonel  von  Werner. 

''My  dear  Augusta,"  he  was  saying,  as  he 
printed  a  kiss  upon  her  ungloved  hand,  ''you 
make  me  proud  and  happy  beyond  words  at 
seeing  in  your  tiny  hands  the  flowers  which  I 
was  so  bold  as  to  send  over  to  you  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Don't  reckon  too  much  on  that,  Werner. 
I  am  not  sure  that  you  see  in  my  hands  any- 
thing more  than  the  instrument  of  a  little  pun- 
ishment I  have  planned.     Henry  Lohenstein, 


Schubert  Fantasies  8i 

as  you  know,  seeks  my  hand.  I  myself  am 
not  disinclined  to  embrace  once  more  the 
chains  of  matrimony.  But  from  the  man  to 
whom  I  give  myself,  I  expect  the  greatest  at- 
tention, which  often  expresses  itself  in  trifles. 
Henry  knows  that  I  do  not  claim  flowers  from 
him  every  day,  that  is  not  to  say  I  do  not  ex- 
pect them ;  to-day  of  all  days  none  have  ap- 
peared. I  was  feeling  cross,  and  speculating 
upon  the  fickleness  of  the  so-called  lords  of 
creation,  when,  dear  Arthur,  I  received  your 
flowers,  and  they  put  to  shame  both  my  phil- 
osophy and  my  bad  temper.  Henry  shall  not 
escape  scatheless  all  the  same;  for  this  evening 
I  shall  hold  this  bouquet  under  his  very  eyes, 
and  you,  Arthur,  shall  be  my  gallant  knight." 

This  she  said  with  a  ravishing  look  of  co- 
quetry at  the  young  man,  who  was  intoxicated 
by  his  triumph. 

"But  you  don't  mean  for  to-day  only?  Alas, 
Augusta,  you  deal  life  and  death  in  the  same 
moment.  What  an  irony  of  fate,  or  chance  as 
people  call  it,  that  has  brought  me  to  know 
you  just  when  you  have  consented  to  become 
the  bride  of  my  happier  rival !  Oh,  my  dear 
and  divine  mistress,  is  your  promise  to  him 
irrevocable?  Von  Lohenstein  loves  you,  no 
doubt,  in  a  respectable  kind  of  manner,  with 


82  Schubert  Fantasies 

the  decorous  love  of  the  shopkeeping  bour- 
geois ;  but  my  love,  on  the  word  of  a  soldi^n", 
is  something  higher  than  this — it  is  a  consum- 
ing fire!" 

''Oho,  my  raging  young  Vulcan ;  who  told 
you,  then,  that  I  loved  this  shopkeeper?" 
sneered  the  heartless  Circe.  ''Henry  is  a  good 
sort  of  fellow;  but  of  violent  passion  he  is  quite 
incapable.  I  have  given  him  my  word  to  be- 
come his  wife — but  not  his — my  friendship  be- 
longs only  to  you " 

And  she  hastily  sat  down  without  complet- 
ing the  broken  sentence,  as  though  frightened 
lest  she  had  unwittingly  given  the  young  sol- 
dier a  too  deep  insight  into  her  meaning  and 
purpose.  But  he  was  far  too  much  a  man  of 
the  world  to  find  in  her  behaviour  or  words 
anything  in  the  least  dishonorable;  on  the 
contrary,  he  bent  himself  over  the  lovely 
statue  with  the  stony  heart,  and  Henry,  with 
his  friend  Schubert,  entered  the  room.  Star- 
tled, the  guilty  pair  shrunk  back  on  the  sofa. 

Henry,  who  had  really  forgotten,  under  the 
influence  of  Schubert's  song,  to  send  his  bou- 
quet, now  approached  Augusta,  carrying  it  in 
his  hand,  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  fingers,  and 
in  a  quite  easy  manner  said: — 

"Good  evening,  my  dear  Augusta;  I  have 


Schubert  Fantasies  83 

an  omission  to  rectify — my  daily  gift.    I  quite 


"Forgot  it,"  broke  in  the  coquette,  with  a 
smile ;  ''but  I  have  here  another  bouquet.  Herr 
von  Werner  has  been  so  kind  as  to  repair  your 
error.  Now  you  will  have  to  submit  to  a  pun- 
ishment, which,  however,  shall  not  be  too  se- 
vere. Herr  von  Lohenstein,  you  must  please 
offer  your  bouquet  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  flames, 
since  for  this  evening  I  shall  only  carry  this 
other  bouquet.  You  can  throw  it  into  the  fire- 
place here." 

"That  I  certainly  shall  not  do,"  said  Henry, 
angrily. 

"Not?"  echoed  Augusta,  sharply. 

"No,"  was  the  firm  reply. 

Augusta  rose  from  the  sofa,  and  walked  with 
slow  steps,  as  though  still  expecting  her  lover 
to  come  to  a  better  state  of  mind,  till  she 
reached  a  small  occasional  table,  from  which 
she  took  a  little  glass  bell.  As  Henry  made  no 
sign,  she  gave  the  bell  a  sharp  ring. 

The  servant  appeared. 

"Maria,"  said  the  mistress,  taking  the  bou- 
quet, the  innocent  cause  of  their  disagreement, 
out  of  Henry's  hands,  "you  are  devoted  to 
flowers.  To-day  you  shall  have  enough  and 
to  spare;    take  this    bouquet,    but  preserve  it 


84  Schubert  Fantasies 

carefully,  so  as  not  to  forget  the  forgetful  giver 
of  it." 

Henry  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  came,  while 
Werner  threw  him  a  glance  which  betokened 
something  between  pity  and  contempt.  Au- 
gusta, however,  had  noticed  how  deeply  she 
had  wounded  him,  and  determined  now  to  give 
another  turn  to  the  incident.  She  went  up  to 
Henry,  and  looking  at  him  with  her  softest 
smile,  said,  with  all  the  rich  charm  of  her  se- 
ductive voice : 

''You  have  deserved  this  punishment  for 
your  disobedience ;  but  enough  of  that — I  can 
both  forget  and  forgive,"  and  she  grasped  the 
hand  of  her  lover,  the  icy  coldness  of  which 
made  her  shudder.  But  Henry  had  the  while 
recovered  himself,  and  drew  Schubert  forward. 
"Permit  me  to  introduce  to  you,  Frau  von 
Westenholz,  my  friend  Schubert,  the  famous 
composer." 

"It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  welcome  to 
my  house  the  man  who  is  the  pride  of  our  mu- 
sical circles  in  Vienna." 

"Madam,"  replied  Schubert,  simply,  "you 
are  too  kind,"  for  the  remembrance  of  the 
scene  just  enacted  lay  heavy  on  his  soul. 

A  short  pause  ensued. 

"I  hope  the  public  will  shortly  be  gratified 


Schubert  Fantasies  85 

by  a  new  work  from  your  pen.  The  imagina- 
tion which  has  given  us  the  'Erl  King/  the 
'Wanderer,'  and  'Restless  Lori/  and  many 
other  musical  poems,  must  not  lie  idle  too 
long." 

"Oh,  it's  not  idle,"  exclaimed  Henry,  "for 
only  to-day  Franz  has  finished  a  composition, 
which  he  has  promised,  if  you,  madam,  will 
allow  it,  to  produce  here  for  the  first  time." 

"Or  rather,"  said  Augusta,  turning  to  Schu- 
bert, "if  the  author  will  deem  my  house  worthy 
of  a  first  performance  of  one  of  his  composi- 
tions." 

Meanwhile,  the  drawing-room  had  been  fill- 
ing with  guests.  It  was  without  doubt  an 
assemblage  of  smart  men  and  women,  though 
one  could  see  at  a  glance  that  those  collected 
there  were  not  at  all  representative  of  the  best 
Vienna  society.  It  is  difficult  to  find  the  right 
word  wherewith  to  describe  them,  but  the 
phrase  "omnium-gatherum"  would  do  as  well 
as  any.  Augusta's  only  care  was  always  to 
be  surrounded  with  a  circle  of  friends,  of  which 
she  might  be  the  sun  and  centre. 

The  dandified  Colonel,  who  in  the  scene 
that  had  passed  had  already  been  regarding 
himself  as  a  Caesar  Triumphator,  now  never 
left  Augusta's  side  for  a  moment;  and  she  in 
her  turn  felt  flattered  by  the  homage  shown  her 


S6  Schubert  Fantasies 

by  the  gallant  soldier,  and  saw  in  it  a  means 
both  of  fanning  Henry's  jealous  feelings  into 
flame,  and  of  chaining  him  to  her  more  closely 
than  ever. 

Henry  felt  as  though  he  sat  upon  glowing 
embers.  He  was  not  slow  to  mark  the  looks 
of  compassion  or  of  malice  thrown  at  him  from 
dififerent  parts  of  the  room. 

At  last  Augusta  raised  her  voice : 

''My  friends,  I  desire  to  call  your  attention 
to  a  very  particular  mark  of  honor  and  dis- 
tinction which  is  to  be  conferred  upon  us  this 
evening.  Our  universally  esteemed  composer, 
Herr  Schubert,  is  going  to  allow  Herr  von 
Lohenstein  to  give  us  his  latest  composition, 
which  he  himself  will  accompany  on  the 
piano." 

All  were  alike  surprised  and  charmed  with 
this  delightful  intelligence,  and  began  to  talk 
about  the  pleasure  they  were  likely  to  have. 

Henry,  with  the  manuscript  in  his  hands, 
took  his  station  by  the  piano,  where  Schubert 
had  already  seated  himself.  All  his  pulses  beat 
nervously  up  and  down.  His  color  came  and 
went,  especially  as  Werner  said,  with  marked 
emphasis :  ''Herr  von  Lohenstein,  you  will  re- 
quire all  your  art;  Frau  von  Westenholz  has 
much  to  forgive  to-day." 


•^^ 


Schubert  Fantasies  87 

Henry  did  not  vouchsafe  a  single  look  at  his 
officious  prompter,  who,  satisfied  with  the  mis- 
chief he  had  done,  pressed  through  the  throng 
of  guests,  and  planted  himself  by  Augusta's 
side  on  the  sofa.  Henry  commenced  to  sing. 
He  certainly  surpassed  himself.  It  was  as 
though  he  would  pour  forth  his  very  self, 
though  arrayed  in  Schubert's  music. 

Schubert,  who,  while  he  accompanied,  never 
took  his  eyes  off  the  singer,  in  the  same  way 
that  a  doctor  refuses  to  leave  his  patient  in  the 
crisis  of  his  illness,  marked  that  he  changed 
color  repeatedly,  and  noticed  that  his  unsteady 
looks  were  directed  across  the  room  towards 
the  Colonel ;  the  latter,  was  sitting  by  Augusta, 
and  felt  little  interest  in  the  performance. 

"My  veins  will  burst  with  excitement,  Schu- 
bert. Your  song  falls  on  no  barren  soil — the 
room  seems  to  be  going  round  with  me,"  whis- 
pered Henry. 

"Pull  yourself  together,  and  sing  the  last 
verse." 

Henry  went  on : — 

"The  waters  rush'd,  the  waters  rose 

Wetting  his  naked  feet; 
As  if  his  true  love's  words  were  those, 

His  heart  with  longing  beat. 

She  sang  to  him,  to  him  spake  she. 
His  doom  was  fixed,  I  ween; 


88  Schubert  Fantasies 

Half  drew  she  him,  and  half  sank  he, 
And  ne'er  again  was  seen." 

The  song  ended.  A  burst  of  applause 
greeted  both  performers.  Augusta  approached 
the  piano. 

"Herr  Schubert,  how  can  I  sufficiently  thank 
you  for  the  pleasure  you  have  given  us?  But 
where  is  Herr  von  Lohenstein?" 

*'He  begs  you  will  excuse  him.  A  sudden 
faintness  overcame  him,  and  he  felt  he  must 
go  home." 

^h  ^h  ^  *F  T*  'I* 

''My  Dear  Schubert, 

"We,  or  rather  you  have  triumphed!  In 
my  present  mood,  I  cannot  write  at  length. 
If  you  care  to  see  Henry,  who  is  going  away 
to-morrow  for  some  time,  in  order,  at  his  own 
particular  request,  to  carry  out  an  inspection 
at  my  works  in  Bohemia,  you  must  come  in 
this  evening,  if  you  have  time,  and  join  our 
little  family  circle.  No  one  else  will  be  here. 
''Your  sincere  and  ever  grateful  friend, 

"Franz  Lohenstein." 

So  ran  the  letter,  which  the  very  day  after 
his  new  song,  "The  Angler,"  had  been  sung 
for  the  first  time  by  Henry,  at  Augusta  Wes- 
tenholz's  house,  Schubert  received  from  the 
singer's  joyful  and  happy  father. 


.■feiii!' 


THE  LINDEN  TREE 


THE  LINDEN  TREE 

T  T  was  on  the  first  day  of  April,  1827,  that, 
-■-  after  forty-eight  hours  of  storm  and  rain, 
the  sun  had  managed  once  more  to  break 
through  the  black  clouds,  and  again  flamed 
brightly  from  a  sky  of  azure  blue.  It  had 
seemed  as  though  the  glorious  Prince  of  Light 
had  veiled  his  joyous  face  in  sorrow  for  the 
mighty  dead,  for  the  great  Ludwig  van  Bee- 
thoven, whose  eyes  had  just  closed  in  ever- 
lasting sleep. 

The  hero  of  music  was  no  more. 

He,  the  victor  who  had  triumphed  over  all 
diiiiculties  in  the  realm  of  music,  had  now 
succumbed  to  earthly  sufferings ;  the  man  who 
had  not  bowed  his  head  before  kings  lay 
stricken  down  by  the  mightiest  king  of  all, 
and  was  confined  within  a  narrow  tomb  in  the 
cemetery  at  Wahring.  His  struggles  were 
over.  At  his  funeral  the  very  elements  had 
raged  in  wild  confusion,  and  a  cry  of  pain  had 
gone  up  from  universal  Nature  at  her  unut- 
terable loss.  And  just  as  from  Bonn  it  was 
that  the  young  eagle  essayed  his  first  bold 
flight  through  the  world,  so  now,  amid  thunder 
and  lightning,  Jupiter  himself  departed  and  sat 
him  down  on  his  throne  in  the  sky  amid  the 

91 


92  Schubert  Fantasies 

immortals.  But  the  storm  had  fallen;  rest 
had  returned  to  Nature ;  over  meadow  and 
field  lay  peace.  The  sun  was  shining  in  sub- 
lime magnificence,  and  was  thawing  the  earth 
out  of  her  winter  sleep.  The  wild  flowers 
were  already  beginning  to  peep  out  of  their 
dark  hiding-places.  The  trees  were  clothing 
themselves  anew  with  their  showy  blossoms. 
The  streams  and  brooks  began  to  murmur  and 
chatter  again ;  while  the  feathered  songsters 
took  up  their  strain,  and  sang  with  thousand 
voices  their  joyful  notes  and  songs  of  victory. 

Thoughtfully,  and  with  slow  steps,  serious- 
ness stamped  upon  his  brow,  walked  a  man. 
His  way  from  Heiligenstadt  to  Nussdorf.  For 
him  the  charms  of  Nature  seemed  to  have  no 
attraction ;  he  remained  insensible  to  the  glor- 
ious surroundings,  and  many  a  flower  of  the 
field  bent  with  a  groan  under  the  weight  of 
his  careless  foot.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  and 
directed  his  gaze  towards  the  sea  of  houses 
which  lay  spread  out  in  the  distance,  now 
beautified  by  the  evening  sun. 

"Thou,  my  Vienna,"  exclaimed  the  wander- 
er with  emotion,  "thou,  the  pride  of  an  empire, 
what  a  loss  hast  thou  to  lament  in  these  latter 
days !  The  hero  of  music  is  no  more ;  thou 
standest   before  his  death-bed,  standest  with 


Schubert  Fantasies  93 

tearful  eye  before  his  bier.    Keep  safe  the  gifts 
he  has  left  thee,  in  memory  of  his  greatness. 

"Ye,  ye  people  of  the  proud  metropolis, 
must  needs  hate  him,  because  he  chose  to  keep 
himself  apart  from  the  world  which  looked  so 
coldly  on  him;  called  him  heartless  because 
he  was  restrained. 

"Oh,  I  would  that  ye  all  had  heard  how  our 
rising  young  poet  Grillparzer  spoke  of  him,  as 
he  stood  by  his  open  grave.  Your  judgment 
might  then  have  been  different.  'It  is  the  hard- 
hearted man,'  he  said,  'who  does  not  budge ;  it 
is  only  the  man  of  feeling  who  winces  at  dis- 
play. He  avoided  the  world  because  his  soul 
had  not  the  weapons  wherewith  to  fight  the 
world.  If  he  withdrew  from  men,  it  was  be- 
cause he  had  given  them  his  all,  but  received 
nothine  from  them  in  return.  He  remained 
alone  because  there  was  none  like  him.' 

"Ah,  towards  me,  at  any  rate,  how  good  and 
sympathetic  he  was!  How  often  has  he,  the 
elder  and  the  more  experienced,  smoothed  the 
brow  of  the  younger,  spoken  to  me  words 
of  hope,  when  I  tremblingly  put  forth  my  lit- 
tle bark  on  the  stormy  and  stressful  ocean! 
And  now  this  shield,  this  staff,  has  gone  from 
me.  Many  a  time,  in  the  solitude  he  loved, 
has  he  walked  along  this  very  road,  sorrow 


94  Schubert  Fantasies 

gnawing  at  his  heart.  Poor  fellow,  a  pathetic 
figure  enough,  yet  how  fortunate!  He  had 
longed  for  a  wife,  for  some  friendly,  womanly 
heart  which  should  share  with  his  the  burdens 
put  upon  him  by  the  haughty  self-sufficiency 
of  his  relations,  which  should  help  him  bear  up 
against  the  intrigues  of  his  jealous  rivals.  But 
even  this  wish,  like  many  another,  was  denied 
him.  The  envious  Muse  would  possess  him 
entirely  or  not  at  all.  Well,  thou  hast  journey- 
ed on  before  me  to  a  better  world,  my  friend 
and  father!  Perhaps  I  shall  meet  thee  there 
again  before  long.  If  only,  before  I  go,  I  could 
erect  to  thy  memory  some  worthy  monument, 
Worthy,  said  I  ?  Alas,  never — never  could  my 
uncertain  feet  scale  the  slopes  of  Olympus !" 

During  this  muttered  soliloquy,  the  walker 
had  moved  slowly  on,  and  now  suddenly  found 
himself  at  a  little  grassy  place  surrounded  by 
trees,  just  such  a  place  as  poets  would  love  to 
dream  in.  The  trees  enclosed  the  green  patch 
like  the  pillars  of  a  temple,  which  the  3'-oung 
shoots  love  to  climb,  till  they  crown  the  build- 
ing with  a  dome  of  greenery.  Beeches  and 
slender  firs  formed  the  pillars,  and  in  the  midst 
of  these  stood  a  truly  majestic  Linden. 

Although  it  was  in  April,  the  evening  was 
mild  and  sweet,  so  that  the  stranger,  attracted 


Schubert  Fantasies  95 

by  the  stillness  which  prevailed,  threw  himself 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  Linden.  And  then 
such  a  peace  entered  his  heart,  that,  in  his 
present  elevated  mood,  it  appeared  to  him  as 
though  he  were  now  nearer  to  the  friend  he 
adored,  that  he  could  now  almost  feel  the 
breath  of  his  spirit. 

Unconsciously,  as  this  deep  feeling  which 
overcame  him  so  powerfully  stole  away  again, 
he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  book,  and  began 
mechanically  to  turn  over  its  leaves.  It  was 
a  book  of  poems  by  Wilhelm  Miiller;  he  cast 
but  a  glance  at  it,  and  then  his  eyes  wandered 
once  more  away  into  space,  his  thoughts  ever 
fixed  upon  the  friend  he  had  lost. 

"He  has  gone  before  me  into  the  realms  of 
light ;  his  flight  was  too  high  for  this  dull  earth 
of  ours,  and  his  poetry  has  gone  with  him  to 
the  grave.  Winter  came  upon  him  here — 
froze  him — and  only  the  warm  sun  of  a  more 
glorious  world  can  thaw  him  again.  This 
transition  state  of  the  soul  is  man's  winter's 
journey !  And  a  voice  whispers  to  me  that  my 
winter  is  also  begun."  Once  more  he  threw 
a  glance  at  the  open  book,  and  there  it  stood 
in  great,  big  letters,  "A  Winter's  Journey.  A 
Cycle  of  poems."  'T  wonder  whether  I  could 
set   these   poems   to   music,   whether   I   could 


96  Schubert  Fantasies 

paint  the  winter's  journey  of  my  own  soul, 
and  bequeath  the  picture  as  a  memorial  to 
my  Vienna,  if  Vienna,  forsooth,  should  ever 
care  to  remember  me." 

He  turned  his  sad  gaze  upwards,  and  hap- 
pened to  notice  on  the  branch  of  the  tree  un- 
der which  he  lay  two  wreaths  hanging,  the 
one  composed  of  laurels,  the  other  of  ever- 
lasting flowers. 

''What  is  that?"  he  exclaimed,  springing  to 
his  feet.  *'Am  I  dreaming,  or  is  it  real  ?  Laur- 
el and  everlasting  flowers — types  of  imperish- 
able fame  and  immortality.  How  came  these 
wreaths  here?" 

Entirely  oblivious  to  anything  but  his  own 
thoughts,  the  stranger  had  never  perceived 
that  several  laborers,  returning  home  from 
the  fields,  had  noticed  the  man  at  the  foot  of 
the  linden-tree,  and  had  been  listening  to  his 
agitated  soliloquy. 

"Do  you  see,  Hans,"  said  the  eldest  of  these, 
a  hoary-headed  old  man,  "he's  just  going  on 
like  that  curly-headed  musician  chap  who 
used  to  come  here  last  year  and  lie  under  the 
trees  and  scribble  pot-hooks,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  pictures  in  a  dream-book." 

"Yes,  Kilian;  and  do  you  remember  that 
evening  also  last  summer  when  we  were  lead- 


Schubert  Fantasies  97 

ing  the  newly-cut  hay  from  Grinzing?  Do 
you  call  to  mind  how  the  old  fellow  was  sit- 
tins:  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  never  saw 
the  wagon  coming,  nor  paid  any  heed  to  our 
cries,  so  that  we  nearly  ran  over  him?  And 
even  thus,  he  kept  us  waiting  till  he  had  slow- 
ly packed  up  all  his  copy-book  stuff,  and  then, 
with  a  friendly  nod,  as  though  he  would  have 
thanked  us  for  our  politeness  in  not  killing 
him,  he  got  up  and  moved  along  a  bit  farther. 
Suppose  we  had  run  him  down,  Kilian,  they'd 
have  said  in  the  town  that  we  had  murdered 
their  'Head  Musician,'  as  I  heard  him  called 
by  one  of  the  women  who  helped  lay  him  out." 

''Well,  I'll  speak  to  this  fresh  fool,"  said  the 
other,  and  he  went  up  to  the  stranger. 

"Is  there  anything  wrong  with  you,  sir? 
We've  been  watching  you  awhile,  and  you 
have  been  clutching  with  your  hands  as 
though   you   could   scarcely   breathe." 

Schubert,  for  the  solitary  wanderer  was  no 
other  than  he,  looked  up  in  the  direction  from 
whence  the  voice  came,  and  saw  the  group 
of  men  who  were  regarding  him  so  curiously. 
He  listened  with  a  smile  to  the  question,  then 
replied   in  laughing  tones — 

"Thank  you,  my  friends,  I  am  all  right;  but 
perhaps  you  could  answer  me  a  question.     I 


98  Schubert  Fantasies 

want  to  know  how  those  two  wreaths  come  to 
be  hanging  on  the  branch  of  the  tree  under 
which  I  have  been  lying?" 

'*We  don't  know;  in  fact,  have  never  seen, 
them  there  before.  I  expect  it  is  the  lady 
dressed  in  black  who  has  hung  them  there;, 
she  comes  to  this  place  nearly  every  day." 

''A  lady  in  black?" 

*'For  sure — dressed,  as  I  said,  in  black  from 
head  to  foot.  She'll  often  sit  here  by  the  hour 
together;  and  once  we  caught  her  even  kneel- 
ing in  front  of  this  tree.  Rich  she  is,  without 
doubt,  for  she  comes  in  a  grand  carriage,  with 
coachman  all  in  silver  and  gold  sitting  on  the 
box." 

"Can  you  tell  me  one  thing,  good  people? 
Since  when  have  you  noticed  this  lady?"  For 
the  news  was  full  of  interest  for  Schubert. 

"Since  the  day  the  great  musician  was  bur- 
ied." 

"You  mean  the  day  of  Beethoven's  death?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  name  they  gave  the  mad  old 
gentleman  at  the  Inn.  Did  you  know  him, 
sir?" 

"Know  him?  Ay,  indeed.  And  this  Lin- 
den-tree?" 

"Was  his  favorite.     He  would  sit  here  for 


Schubert  Fantasies  99 

hours  writing,  then  spring  up  and  wave  his 
hands  in  the  air." 

'7ust  as  your  honor  did  just  now,"  ejacu- 
lated one  of  the  throng. 

"Every  child  hereabouts  knew  him,  and 
would  sometimes  run  out  of  his  way,  he  look- 
ed so  sad  always." 

"And  yet  was  ever  soul  of  child  more 
happy  and  bright  than  his!"  muttered  Schu- 
bert to  himself. 

"Then   your   honor   is   sure   you    are    quite 
well?"  inquired  the  careful  peasants. 
"Oh,  thank  you,  certainly,  quite  well!" 
"Then  adieu  to  your  honor.     And  the  Al- 
mighty keep  you." 

"To  eternity,"  exclaimed  Schubert,  falling 
into  the  usual  formula  of  the  country  folk. 

The  peasants  pursued  their  path  to  Heili- 
genstadt,  while  Schubert  stood  in  deep 
thought  before  the  Linden-tree,  now  sudden- 
ly grown  so  dear  to  him. 

"A  legacy  from  my  beloved  friend,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "which  I  shall  guard  and  reverence. 
Bloom  on  and  flourish  to  the  joy  of 
him  who  looks  down  upon  thee  from 
the  skies  above !  And  thou  dear,  quiet 
spot,  where  he  Avho  has  gone  home  has 
left  enshrined  so  many  memories,     do     thou 


loo  Schubert  Fantasies 

henceforth  be  dedicated  to  him.  Haydn,  Moz- 
art, Beethoven,  spread  your  protecting  hands 
over  this  place  and  save  it  from  the  blight  of 
devastation." 

Day  after  day  Schubert  wandered  forth  to 
that  secluded  spot,  which  a  coincidence  so  un- 
usual had  disclosed  to  him,  and  spent  hours 
there,  working  and  dreaming. 

The  mysterious  lady  in  black,  of  whose  ap- 
pearance the  peasants  had  told  him,  had  not 
yet  vouchsafed  to  show  herself,  though  the 
tree  was  already  expanding  into  its  full  mag- 
nificence, and  both  the  wreaths  were  hidden 
in  its  foliage.  Nor  had  anything  led  to  fur- 
ther discovery,  save  that  two  cuts  in  the  bark 
of  the  tree,  consisting  of  two  "G's"  intertwin- 
ed with  one  another,  had  appeared;  but  these 
did  no  more  than  emphasize  the  fact  that  the 
riddle  was  still  unsolved. 

One  afternoon,  however,  an  elegant  broug- 
ham passed  down  the  lane  to  Doblinger  and 
went  by  Schubert.  A  coachman  in  rich  livery 
sat  on  the  box;  and  inside  the  carriage  sat  a 
lady  dressed  wholly  in  black.  The  speed  with 
which  the  horses  went  past  him,  and  the  dust 
which  the  carriage  raised,  prevented  Schubert 
from  seeing  the  face  of  the  occupant.  With 
an  instinctive  feeling  that  today  at  last  he  was 


Schubert  Fantasies  ioi 

going  to  penetrate  the  mystery,  he  strode 
quickly  onwards. 

He  arrived  at  Heihgenstadt,  and  there,  in 
the  garden  of  a  small  restaurant  which  still 
stands  there,  he  saw  the  carriage  again.  He 
hastened  into  the  garden  in  the  hope  of  find- 
ing the  lady.  But  she  had  already  descended, 
so  his  hope  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 

With  beating  heart  he  hurried  on  again.  He 
reached  the  height  at  last  where  he  had  in 
former  days  given  such  vent  to  the  feelings 
which  possessed  him,  and  there  he  remained 
motionless,  doubtful  as  to  whether  he  should 
carry  his  pursuit  after  the  lady  any  further. 
For  that  this  was  the  "Unknown"  for  whom 
he  had  sought  so  long,  he  had  no  doubt  what- 
ever. By  showing  himself  he  might  learn 
some  secret,  but  in  learning  it  dispel  forever 
many  a  soft  imagining,  many  a  sweet  dream. 
And  yet — to  know  the  friend  of  his  dead 
friend — she  would  not  condemn  this  as  mere 
idle  curiosity. 

Again  he  moved  slowly  on,  and  now  could 
already  see  the  top  of  his  beloved  Linden-tree. 
He  plunged  down  into  the  valley — the  little 
place  came  into  sight — his  instinct  had  not 
betrayed  him — she  was  there,  the  lady  in 
black.     She  sat  on  a  moss-covered  stone  just 


102  Schubert  Fantasies 

opposite  the  Linden-tree,  a  portfolio  on  her 
lap,  and  she  appeared  to  be  drawing  the  tree. 
Warily  he  crept  nearer,  determined  at  all  costs 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  considered  presump- 
tuous, in  his  anxiety  to  learn  whether  this  was 
the  lady  who  had  provided  those  wreaths,  and 
what  the  connecting  link  was  between  her  and 
Beethoven.  Just  then  he  saw  the  hand  which 
held  the  pencil  slowly  drop  to  her  side  and  a 
tear  fall  upon  the  paper,  while  a  sad,  soft 
voice  spoke  in  tones  just  loud  enough  to  reach 
his  ear,  "Ludwig,  my  only  love,  how  sadly 
you  misunderstood  me." 

On  hearing  this,  Schubert's  only  thought 
was  how  to  get  away  again  without  being 
seen,  but  he  was  too  late;  his  footsteps  had 
been  heard,  and  the  lady,  looking  round  and 
seeing  a  man  behind  her,  uttered  a  cry  of 
alarm.  Then,  quickly  collecting  herself,  she 
arose,  put  away  the  portfolio,  and  made  a 
step  to  meet  the  stranger. 

*'Do  you  want  anything  here,  sir?"  This, 
said  with  a  piercing  look  towards  the  music- 
ian, did  not  help  to  ease  him  of  the  embarrass- 
ment he  felt.  But  after  she  had  scanned  the 
newcomer's  features  more  closely,  her  face 
assumed  a  more  gentle  expression,  and  she 
suddenly  asked,  ''But  how  come    you     here, 


Schubert  Fantasies  103 

Herr  Schubert?  Is  this  a  mere  coincidence?" 
"Not  so,"  said  he,  more  composedly.  "I 
would  fain  know  who  it  is  who  honors  the 
memory  of  my  friend  in  so  delicate  and  un- 
ostentatious a  manner,"  and  he  pointed,  as  he 
spoke,  to  the  two  wreaths.  'Tardon  me,  un- 
known lady,  if  I  seem  to  ask  a  presumptuous 
question,  but  do  you  honor  Beethoven  thus  as 
Artist  merely,  or  Beethoven  the  Man?" 

"Beethoven  the  Man  I  honor  indeed  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul !  Schubert,  to-day  we  stand 
face  to  face  for  the  first  time,  and  yet  you  ask 
me  a  question  which  ordinarily  I  could  only 
answer  to  my  best  and  truest  friend.  But  I  feel 
as  though  he  had  sent  you  to  me  that  I  might 
unburden  the  weight  upon  my  mind.     Learn 
then,  Schubert,  my  secret.   Our  hearts  glowed 
in  sympathy  together;  through  the    eyes    of 
love  we  saw  before  us  a  happy  picture;  we 
were  full  of  youth  and  hope.     Then  up  rose 
conventionalism,  the  cool  calculations  of  rea- 
son, foe   to  all  romance,  and  we  were  soon 
parted  asunder.     Has  Beethoven  never  men- 
tioned to  you  the  name  of  Giulletta?" 

"Giulletta  di  Guiccardi— he  only  mentioned 
that  name  once  in  my  presence,  and  that  was 
when  he  put  that  name  on  the  title-page  of 


I04  Schubert  Fantasies 

his  Sonata  in  C  minor.  Since  then  I  have 
never  heard  him  utter  it." 

*'Oh,  in  those  days  I  occupied  all  his 
thoughts ;  I  was  in  truth  his  Giulletta !" 

"Do  I  then  stand,  madam " 

"In  the  presence  of  Julia,  Countess  Gallen- 
berg,  that  Giulletta  di  Guiccardi  who  formerly 
held  Beethoven  worthy  of  the  highest  place 
in  her  affections.  Come,  Schubert,"  and  she 
took  him  by  the  hand,  "come  under  this  tree, 
under  the  shade  of  which  he  once  confessed 
his  love  to  me.  Here  you  shall  hear  my  fate 
and  learn  how  unjust  Ludwig  was  to  me." 

They  sat  down  on  the  roots  of  the  tree  and 
the  Countess  began,  while  Schubert  listened 
to  every  syllable  that  fell  from  her  lips  with 
the  most  eager  attention. 

"Twenty  years  have  passed  since  I  saw 
Beethoven  for  the  first  time.  It  was  at  a  party 
at  the  house  of  the  Prince  von  Lobkowitz, 
where  so  many  artists  foregather;  the  same 
occasion  as  that  on  which  I,  a  young  girl  of 
sixteen,  was  brought  out  by  my  mother.  What 
disappointments  since  then !  Contrast  my 
hopes  then,  and  the  realities  now.  Where  I  ex- 
pected to  find  heart  and  feeling,  I  met  instead 
with  empty  words  and  hollow  forms,  into 
which  men  are  squeezed  as  into  strait-waist- 


Schubert  Fantasies  105 

coats.  It  was  a  bitter  ending  to  all  my 
dreams!  But  that  was  only  the  first  dis- 
appointment, many  another  was  to  follow 
when  it  came  to  maternal  love,  friendship,  and 
married  life!" 

The  Countess  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  it 
was  several  moments  before  she  continued — 

'*0n  the  evening  in  question  a  concert  in 
honor  of  the  Princess  had  been  arranged,  and 
music,  vocal  and  instrumental,  as  well  as  reci- 
tations, were  to  be  given.  I  knew  that  the 
performance  would  be  given  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Beethoven,  the  great  man  who  had  in- 
spired all  my  thought,  though  I  had  never  seen 
him.  I  knew  him  simply  by  his  works,  for  I 
had  had  excellent  masters  and  had  already 
made  considerable  progress  both  in  pianoforte- 
playing  and  singing;  and  people  say  I  was 
gifted  with  excellent  taste  and  judgment  for 
the  truly  beautiful  in  music.  I  could  scarcely 
wait  for  the  evening  to  come  which  should 
enable  me  to  meet  the  great  hero  of  music, 
and  which  might  even  give  me  the  opportun- 
ity of  thanking  him  with  my  own  lips  for  the 
many  glorious  hours  his  genius  had  provided 
for  me. 

*'\Ve  arrived.  Beethoven  was  not  yet  there. 
Nothing  stirred  me  in  the  least ;  nothing  made 


io6  Schubert  Fantasies 

the  smallest  impression  upon  me,  till  the  fold- 
ing doors  opened,  and  he  stepped  in.  Then 
the  sun  seemed  to  shine,  and  all  seemed  to 
bask  in  his  beams. 

''As  for  me,  I  was  drawn  by  the  flash  of  his 
eyes  like  iron  to  a  magnet,  and  I  drew  in 
every  word  which  he  spoke,  though  they  were 
but  his  words  of  greeting  to  the  company. 

''At  last  the  concert  commenced.  Beeth- 
oven played  for  the  first  time  in  public  his 
great  Sonata  in  B.  Ah,  how  he  played,  and 
how  his  composition  affected  me  I  leave  you 
to  imagine.  I  thought  I  was  no  longer  on  the 
earth,  but  was  listening  rapt  to  celestial  music. 

"When  this  was  finished,  as  the  Princess 
desired  only  to  have  Beethoven's  music,  an 
opera-singer  who  was  there  was  asked  to  fol- 
low with  Mignon's  song,  'Know'st  Thou  the 
Land?'  But  she  caused  a  great  disappointment 
by  begging  to  be  excused  on  the  score  of  a 
very  severe  cold.  Then,  with  beating  heart, 
I  came  to  a  sudden  resolve,  and,  after  a  hurried 
whisper  to  my  mother,  I  took  my  stand  by 
Beethoven  at  the  piano,  and  begged  him  with 
a  blush,  rather  than  that  the  company  should 
be  deprived  of  the  song,  to  allow  me  to  sing  it, 
if  he  would  be  so  good  as  to  accompany  me. 
In  this  way  we  came  to  know  each  other. 


Schubert   Fantasies  107 

"It  was  the  mubic  that  brought  us  together. 
Beethoven  used  often  to  come  to  our  house 
after  this,  and  many  were  the  happy  hours  I 
passed  in  his  company. 

"The  following  summer  we  spent  at  Heili- 
genstadt,  whither  Beethoven  pursued  us,  and 
we  used  to  make  lovely  excursions  together. 
Amid  the  glories  of  Xature  the  whole  nobility 
of  his  character  disclosed  itself.  This  is  the 
little  spot  which  he  and  I  discovered  one  day, 
and  it  was  under  this  very  Linden-tree  that  we 
confessed  our  love  to  each  other ;  it  was  from 
out  its  branches  that  the  first  whisper  of  trust 
and  hope  breathed  upon  our  ears — 

"  'Beneath  my  shade 
All  care  is  laid.' 

''Here,  we  passed  many  an  hour.  And  when 
evening  dropped  her  veil  over  the  earth,  and 
the  stars  swam  out  and  glittered  like  pearls 
before  our  eyes,  then  our  souls,  drowned  with 
love,  seemed  to  float  away  from  us  in  heaven- 
ly forms,  to  hover  above  us  like  messengers 
of  light — we  were,  in  a  word,  happy — in  Para- 
dise. 

"Then  clouds  arose  on  the  horizon,  and  the 
beams  of  love  began  to  wax  colder  and  more 
faint.  Ludwig  was  invited  to  pay  a  long  visit 
in  Hungary  to  a  family  of  which  he  was  very 


io8  Schubert  Fantasies 

fond.  He  could  hardly  avoid  his  consent.  Ill- 
starred  journey!  Scarce  was  he  gone  when 
a  young  soldier  arrived  at  our  house,  who  also 
paid  homage  to  the  cause  of  music.  My 
mother,  of  set  purpose,  as  I  afterward  dis- 
covered, gave  him  opportunity  to  see  and 
speak  with  me  every  day.  I  was  kindly  dis- 
posed towards  the  stranger  without  feeling 
for  him  the  least  spark  of  affection,  which  had 
all  been  given  to  'the  lover  far  away.' 

"One  day  the  scales  fell  from  my  eyes.  I 
found  I  had  awakened  something  more  than 
an  interest  in  the  mind  of  the  young  Count, 
and  I  shrank  back  in  terror  from  the  discovery. 
Too  late.  Gallenberg  had  already  pleaded 
with  my  mother  for  my  hand,  and  it  was  not 
denied  him.  I  was  unable  to  withstand  the 
pressure  put  upon  me.  My  future  husband  was 
a  man  of  rank,  and  had  great  possessions  and 
many  high-sounding  names.  As  to  whether 
my  heart  would  break,  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  question.  The  only  thing  of  impor- 
tance was  that  I  should  be  entangled  in  a 
hedge  of  genealogy,  although  its  branches 
should  choke  me  to  death.  Enough  of  that 
matter.  As,  after  leaving  the  altar,  we  walked 
down  the  church,  with  the  priest's  blessing, 
which  sounded  like    a    curse,  ringing  in  my 


Schubert   Fantasies  109 

ears,  Beethoven,  unseen  by  the  rest,  stepped 
out  from  behind  a  pillar,  and  I  was  carried  by 
my  husband  fainting  to  my  carriage.  Ludwig, 
awakened  out  of  his  dreams  of  happiness  and 
wounded  to  the  death,  returned  again  to  Hun- 
gary, hoping  in  distance  from  the  scene  to 
find  rest  and  comfort  for  his  broken  heart.  In 
vain.     I,  too,  was  miserable. 

"My  husband  cherished  me,  honored  and 
loved  me ;  but  I  could  not  return  those  gifts. 
In  him  I  saw  only  the  robber  of  Ludwig's  hap- 
piness and  mine.  He  soon  perceived  that  his 
efforts  to  win  my  affections  were  useless,  with 
the  result  that  he  became  as  cold  to  me  as  I 
to  him.  We  lived  a  lonely,  joyless  existence. 
I  wrote  to  Beethoven,  begged  his  forgiveness, 
pictured  to  him  my  helpless  situation,  and  all 
the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  me  by  my 
mother.  ]\Iy  letters  came  back  to  me  unopen- 
ed. There  is  nothing  I  would  not  have  done 
if  I  could  have  spoken  with  Beethoven,  who 
meanwhile  had  returned  to  Vienna,  alone  and 
undisturbed.  But  all  my  trouble  was  in  vain. 
All  my  little  plans  which  I  had  slily  contriv- 
ed for  this  purpose  he  knew  how  to  bring  to 
naught.  Then  I  learned  one  day,  after  I  had 
humiliated  myself  by  bribing  his  housekeeper 
over  to  my  side,  that  he  still  was  wont  to  take 


no  Schubert  Fantasies 

his  daily  walks  to  the  Linden-tree.  At  last 
I  knew  where  to  find  him.  To  gain  his  for- 
giveness was  everything  to  me,  and  one  day  I 
surprised  him,  here  at  the  foot  of  this  tree,  in 
tears.     I  knew  it — those  tears  were  for  me. 

*'  'Ludwig,'  I  exclaimed,  'can  you  forgive 
me?' 

''Then  he  drew  himself  up  in  his  majesty, 
and  like  an  angry  lion  he  stood  before  me,  with 
lightning  in  his  eyes.  With  a  dignified  and 
courteous  gesture  he  waved  me  back,  and  the 
next  moment  he  was  gone — without  a  single 
word.  Thus  he  has  never  forgiven  me,"  sob- 
bed the  Countess  in  a  voice  which  was  choked 
with  tears. 

"And  did  he  never  speak  with  you,"  asked 
Schubert,  who  recognized  in  this  story  the 
stern,  unbending  character  of  Beethoven. 

''We  never  even  saw  each  other,  and  with 
him  in  life  I  certainly  have  never  spoken  again 
— but  I  have  seen  him  since  he  died.  In  the 
middle  of  the  night,  unseen  by  the  inquisitive, 
I  knelt  by  his  body,  and  won  his  forgiveness. 
My  hot  tears  fell  on  his  cold  hand,  and  sud- 
denly a  calm  took  possession  of  my  heart, 
which  appeared  to  me  as  though  it  were  the 
forgiveness  I  sought.  Over  the  grave  even 
the  red  flowers  of  hate  grow  white.     I  placed 


Schubert  Fantasies  hi 

in  his  coffin  some  leaves  of  this  tree  which  I 
had  plucked  from  it  on  the  day  of  our  final 
meeting  here.  And  since  the  day  of  his  fun- 
eral, I  have  come  out  to  this  tree  every  day. 
It  is  my  pilgrimage;  I  wander  here  to  the 
gravestone  of  my  coffined  hopes.  Away,  yon- 
der, in  the  cemetery  I  am  not  alone  with  him, 
I  am  disturbed;  but  here  I  can  hold  my  own 
quiet  communion.  Here  I  feel  a  peace  within 
me.  Beneath  these  branches,  when  the  wind 
whispers  softly  through  its  rustling  branches, 
it  is  as  though  I  heard  his  voice : — 

"  'Come  here  to  me.  Beloved, 
'Tis  here  thou  findest  thy  rest.' 

"Here  it  was  also,  Schubert,  that,  coming 
time  after  time,  I  found  you,  and  so  had  to 
change  the  hour  of  my  visit.  Today  you  have 
managed  to  surprise  me." 

During  this  recital,  the  sun  had  gone  down, 
and  a  few  stars  managed  to  flicker  out  into  the 
evening  glow. 

"See,  Schubert,"  exclaimed  the  Countess,  as 
she  raised  her  arm  to  heaven  like  some  in- 
spired prophetess,  "see  how  even  already 
love's  messengers  shoot  out  their  light,  and 
look  tenderly  upon  the  sufferer,  and  bring  her 
kisses  from  the  far-oflf  land."  And  the  poor 
woman  sank  upon  her  knees  in  silent  prayer. 


112  Schubert  Fantasies 

Schubert  stood  quietly  by,  unwilling-  to  dis- 
turb her.  Then  she  suddenly  rose.  "It  is 
time  to  part,  Schubert.  Today  we  have  spok- 
en together  for  the  first  and  last  time — nay,  I 
will  have  it  so,"  she  added,  as  she  noticed  that 
he  would  say  something  in  protest — "but  I 
have  one  single  request  to  make,  that  you 
keep  my  secret  safe.  This  place  is  my  place 
of  worship.  Schubert,  you  have  the  key  of 
the  door ;  do  not  use  it  wrongfully." 

"Nay,  I  swear  by  your  ladyship,"  said  Schu- 
bert solemnly,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  "by 
the  memory  of  that  dead  friend  who  looks 
down  upon  us  from  those  clouds,  looks  down 
upon  you  in  kindness  and  reconciliation." 

"And  now,  Schubert,  leave  me ;  for  I  would 
fain  collect  my  thoughts  before  I  set  off  on 
my  way  back." 

He  obeyed,  and  with  a  melancholy  air  turn- 
ed his  steps  homewards. 

It  was  on  the  night  of  August  24th  when 
Schubert  was  sitting  close  to  his  piano,  dili- 
gently writing  and  composing.  Midnight  had 
struck  long  ago,  and  the  candles  were  burning 
low  in  their  sockets — still  the  master  worked 
restlessly  on.  It  looked  as  thought  he  were 
determined  to  get  his  task,  whatever  it  was, 
finished  before  the  morrow.    Suddenly  he  got 


Schubert  Fantasies  113 

up,  and  walked  hurriedly  to  the  window,  and 
threw  it  open,  for  the  air  was  oppressive.  A 
thunderstorm  was  coming  up ;  the  sky  was 
obscured  with  black  clouds;  not  a  single  star 
was  to  be  seen;  the  whirling  dust  swept  the 
streets. 

Once  more  Schubert  returned  to  the  table, 
made  a  few  strokes  with  the  pen  still  stand- 
ing, threw  his  pen  away,  and  cast  a  rapid 
glance  over  the  manuscript. 

''My  work  of  love  is  accomplished,  and  I 
bring  it  now  as  a  birthday  present  to  my  dear 
friend.  To  thy  Shade  I  have  dedicated  a  song, 
to  thee  and  to  thy  fate.  It  is  thy  Linden-tree. 
To-morrow  the  Countess  will  be  there,  and 
where  she  hangs  the  wreaths,  she  will  find 
this  song." 

At  this  point  the  speaker's  soliloquy  was  in- 
terrupted, for  the  storm  burst  with  incredible 
fury.  Schubert  closed  the  window,  as  a 
mighty  peal  of  thunder  rolled  round  the  house 
accompanied  by  a  blinding  flash. 

*'But,  that  the  poor  Countess  should  find  full 
comfort  in  this  gift  for  her  wounded  heart,  the 
stars,  which  brought  her  so  much  consolation, 

ought  to  shine However,  I  must  to  rest 

— my  part  is  complete." 

Next   day   the    morning  broke   bright    and 


i 


114  Schubert  Fantasies 

clear.  The  thunder  had  but  served  to  refresh 
drooping  Nature.  Not  a  tree,  nor  a  leaf,  not  a 
blade  of  grass  but  what  lived  anew.  Jo3^ously 
Schubert  hastened  away.  He  had  hit  upon, 
as  he  hoped,  a  new  idea  for  bringing  balm  and 
healine  to  the  stricken  heart  of  the  Countess. 

It  had  flashed  across  him,  as  he  approached 
the  place,  that  the  best  way  to  ensure  her 
seeing  the  songs  (for  that  she  would  come  to- 
day he  had  no  sort  of  doubt)  was  to  attach 
them  to  the  wTcaths  by  means  of  the  blue 
ribands  which  bound  the  latter. 

He  strode  onwards — what  a  spectacle  met 
his  gaze.  The  lightning  of  the  previous  night 
had  struck  the  Linden,  and  there  it  lay  up- 
rooted upon  the  ground,  bereft  of  all  its 
wealth  of  leaves.  But  the  laurels  and  ever- 
lasting  flowers    remained   unsinged! 

The  Linden  has  vanished  from  that  place, 
and  the  wreaths  as  well.  The  musician  too, 
lies  asleep  near  his  beloved  friend ;  but  his 
songs— "The  Linden-tree"  and  "The  Stars"— 
these  live  forever,  to  the  undying  memory  of 
Beethoven  and  Schubert. 


THE  PHANTOM  DOUBLE 


w 


THE  PHANTOM  DOUBLE 

INTER  prevailed  in  all  its  rigour:  the 
fields  were  clad  in  snow,  giving  prom- 
ise of  a  rich  fruit  harvest  to  come.  The  leaf- 
less trees  were  glittering  and  sparkling  with  a 
thousand  borrowed  jewels,  while  the  roofs  of 
the  houses  and  cottages  were  almost  buried 
under  the  weight  of   their  white  mantles. 

By  the  time  that  the    clock    in    the  church 
steeple  had  struck  five,  the  gray  sky  was  al- 
ready hidden  behind    the    black  veil  of  night. 
Snow  was  falling  in  great  flakes,  the  streets 
and  alleys  were  all  deserted,  the  roads  were 
impassable,    and    only    one    single    traveller 
seemed  to    brave    the    cruel     elements,  as  he 
slowly  made  his  way  to  the  Wahring  ceme- 
tery.    Boldly,    and    step    by  step,  he  battled 
against  the  storm,  till  at  last  he  reached  the 
iron  gates,  and  violently  pulled  the  bell  which 
communicated  with   the   gravedigger's  house. 
After  a  moment  the  light  of  a  lantern  became 
visible,  and  finally  a  fur-clad  form  appeared, 
hobbled  slowly  to  the  gate,  and  peered  out  to 
see  who  it  was  that  came  so  late,  and  in  such 
weather,  to  disturb  the  place. 

"Come,  open,  my  good  fellow;  'tis  already 
late  enough,  and  I  have  a  sacred  duty  to  fulfil. 

117 


ii8  Schubert  Fantasies 

I  have  a  wreath  here  which  I  want  to  lay  on 
the  grave  of  one  whom  I  must  ever  keep  in 
memory — tomorrow  is  Nov.  4th,  his  birthday 
— alas,  that  he  left  us  so  soon !" 

While  he  was  speaking  the  gravedigger 
opened  the  gate.  Startled  by  the  noise,  a  flock 
of  ravens  rose  up  and  sped  across  the  ceme- 
tery  in  frantic  flight,  filling  the  air  with  their 
hoarse  croaking. 

The  stranger  chose  the  left-hand  path,  and 
advanced  towards  the  wall  of  the  cemetery. 
*T  am  coming,  Carl,"  whispered  the  unknown 
one  to  himself;  "you  didn't  expect  me  so  late, 
and  thought  I  had  forgotten  you — you  who 
are  the  very  image  of  my  own  past  boyhood. 
Years  have  flown  since  then,  when  you  in- 
spired me  to  compose  my  first  song — at  least 
the  first  that  you  ever  heard — and  also  the 
last.  Your  dying  soul  it  was  that  awakened 
mine.  Many  is  the  song  that  I  have  composed 
since  that  night,  and  today,  if  the  leaves  oi 
Fame  are  rustling  round  my  head,  it  is  all 
your  doing,  Carl ;  the  applause  which  my 
works  have  gained  in  the  world  of  music 
brings  me  neither  pride  nor  happiness — for  all 
happiness,  all  pride  end  here!" 

Muttering  thus,  he  went  slowly  on  in  face 
of  the  storm  and    blinding    snow,  with  head 


Schubert  Fantasies  119 

bent  to  the  ground,  for  right  well  he  knew  the 
spot  where  the  cold  earth  covered  his  dear 
friend.  At  last  he  looked  up,  and  there  on  the 
grave  mound  he  saw  a  Figure  sunk  in  prayer. 
"Who  is  there  but  I,"  thought  the  lonely 
traveller,  over  whom  an  involuntary  shudder 
passed,  "that  would  be  likely  to  perform  this 
little  act  of  love  towards  the  unknown  boy?" 

Hastily,  the  better  to  solve  the  riddle,  he 
approached  the  Figure,  which,  without  so 
much  as  heeding  him,  raised  itself  up  and 
scurried  away.  It  was  an  unsubstantial, 
ghostly  form,  which  froze  the  blood  in  his 
veins,  and  made  his  heart  stand  still. 

Without  looking  round,  for  fear  that  he 
should  again  see  the  ghastly  apparition,  he 
moved  close  up  to  the  grave  and  hung  the 
fresh  wreath  of  flowers  upon  the  snow-clad 
cross.  "Accept,  my  Carl,  the  wreath  I  bring 
thee.  It  is  a  remembrance  of  my  loyalty  and 
affection,  and  it  speaks  to  thee  and  says, 
'Bloom  on,  thou  lovely  flower,  in  the  garden 
of  thy  Lord,  and  grow  under  the  eye  of  God 
until  thou  comest  to  the  joys  of  Heaven  and 
everlasting  blessedness.'  "  He  made  the  sign 
of  the  Cross,  and  then  silently  repeated  the 
Lord's  Prayer  for  the  sleeping  child.  His 
prayer  ended,  he  was  just  about  to  go,  when 


120  Schubert  Fantasies 

his  glance  fell  again  on  the  Figure  he  had 
previously  seen,  which  was  now  kneeling  in 
prayer  before  an  empty  space  close  by  the 
cemetery  wall. 

No  tombstone,  no  cross  marked  the  place. 
The  unknown  man  approached  the  Figure — 
at  all  costs  he  must  know  who  this  was  that 
had  prayed  in  front  of  him  at  Carl's  grave. 
"Sir,"  he  said,  with  trembling  voice,  "1  find 
you  praying  at  the  grave  of  my  dear  pupil 
Did  you  know  Carl?" 

The  Figure,  which  appeared  to  be  that  of  a 
man,  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"I  meet  you  here  at  this  place?  Without 
doubt  there  lies  here  someone  who  is  dear  to 
you?" 

Not  a  word. 

Meantime,  the  snow-laden  clouds  had  been 
swept  away,  and  on  the  horizon  the  moon 
came  up,  shedding  its  pale  bright  light  around. 

"At  least,  you  know  the  man,  who  after 
life's  hard  battle  has  at  length  found  rest 
here?" 

The  Figure  turned  to  the  questioner — the 
cloak  fell  open — the  features  became  visible — 
a  piercing  cry  rang  out — Schubert  turned  and 
fled.  The  face  that  he  had  seen  was — his  own ! 

A  peal  at  the  bell  before  Schubert's  house 


Schubert  Fantasies  121 

made  Therese,  his  old  servant,  quake  in  her 
shoes.  She  was  all  alone,  and  had  been  say- 
ing her  prayers  in  the  dark,  till,  favored  by 
the  prevailing  stillness,  she  had  dropped  off  to 
sleep  in  the  middle.  It  was  just  then  that  the 
violent  ringing  of  the  bell  frightened  her  out 
of  her  dozing  and  dreaming.  She  got  up,  pro- 
cured a  light,  and  opened  the  front  door,  hold- 
ing the  lamp  up  in  the  direction  of  the  visitor, 
so  that  the  light  fell  full  on  his  face.  She 
started  back  in  horror — it  was  as  though  she 
had  gazed  upon  a  visitant  from  another  world. 
Without  doubt  the  features  she  had  seen  were 
those  of  Schubert,  and  yet — there  was  a  some- 
thing not  his  about  them.  A  deathly  pallor 
was  on  his  cheeks,  and  his  glassy  eyes  stared 
lifelessly  out  of  their  sockets,  just  as  through 
they  had  lost  their  power  of  sight. 

Schubert  appeared  not  to  observe  the  terror 
of  the  servant.  With  a  feeble  "Good  evening, 
Therese,"  he  rushed  past  her  and  up  to  his 
room. 

Shaking  her  head  significantly,  the  maid 
stole  after  him,  and  placed  her  ear  close  to  the 
door  to  listen.  Not  that  she  was  inquisitive, 
but  truly  and  sincerely  anxious  for  the  welfare 
of  the  man  whom  she  had  fondled  and  nursed 
as  a  child  in  the  old  parental  home. 


122  Schubert  Fantasies 

She  knew  where  he  had  come  from,  and  had 
already  noticed  how  excited  he  was,  when  he 
had  bidden  her  go  out  to  buy  the  wreath.  The 
faithful  soul  stood  with  folded  hands  before 
the  door. 

Then  she  heard  the  piano  open,  and  tones 
like  funereal  dirges  struck  upon  her  listening 
ear. 

"Ah,  how  they  wail  and  sigh!  Something 
must  be  done  to  cure  my  poor  master  of  this 
melancholy  mood.  I've  never  seen  him  like 
this  before,  though  many's  the  time  he's  come 
back  straight  from  his  old  pupil's  grave! 
How  can  I  help  him  ?    Can't  I  go  and  ask " 

She  took  a  step  or  two  to  her  chamber,  and 
taking  up  a  sealed  packet,  she  began  tO'  talk 
to  herself  in  self-satisfied  accents,  "God  will- 
ing, this  will  help  him ;  this  is  the  best  medi- 
cine for  his  distracted  state!" 

She  knocked  gently  at  the  door  and  entered 
the  room,  within  which  she  found  Schubert 
sitting  at  the  piano,  indulging  in  the  pro- 
foundest  rhapsody. 

"Franz,"  she  said,  for  her  age  and  circum- 
stances gave  her  the  privilege  of  calling  her 
master  by  his  Christian  name,  "this  afternoon 
a  servant  left  this  packet  for  you." 

"Just  leave  it  there,  it's  only  the  proof  of 


Schubert  Fantasies  123 

my  last  Sonata.  Diabelli  chases  me  about  like 
a  hunted  hare.  There's  the  usual  letter  in- 
side to  ask  if  another  song  is  not  ready— oh, 
how  many  more  must  I  compose  before  I 
make  a  name,"  said  Schubert,  under  his  breath, 
''and  can  feel  independent  and  careless?" 

''But  the  message  doesn't  come  from  the 
publisher  at  all.  As  if  I  didn't  know  Lawrence 
when  I  see  him?    This  was  a  servant  in  blue 

livery." 

"In   blue    livery — with     a     silver     border? 
asked  Schubert;  "quickly,  give  me  a  light." 

The  maid  hastily  did  as  she  was  bid;  and 
then,  overjoyed  at  seeing  her  Franz  occupied 
with  other  thoughts,  she  left  the  room. 

Schubert's  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure 
when  he  saw  the  address  on  the  packet,  and 
recognized  the  handwriting. 

"From  her!"  he  joyo-asly  exclaimed,  aloud; 
then  fearing  lest  he  should  be  overheard  by 
someone,  he  muttered:  "How  imprudent  of 
me"  and  hastily  tore  off  the  cover.  A  beauti- 
fully bound  book,  with  an  inscription  in  gold 
lettering,  "In  everlasting  memory  of  G.  C," 
presented  itself  to  his  astonished  gaze,  and 
within  it  lay  a  tiny  sheet  of  paper,  delicately 
folded  together.  This  Schubert  proceeded  to 
open.     Scarce  had  his  first  glance  fallen  upon 


124  Schubert  Fantasies 

it  than  his  face  grew  white,  the  blood  rushed 
to  his  heart,  and  with  trembling  lips  he  read 
half  aloud  as  follows : — 
"My  Dear  Friend, 

"When  these  lines  reach  you,  I  shall  be 
far  from  the  Residence.  My  husband  became, 
in  the  most  unaccountable  way,  possessed  of 
our  sweet  secret,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  I 
tried  to  deceive  him.  Only  one  way  is  left, 
though  it  is  with  a  torn  and  bleeding  heart  I 
write  it.  I  myself  have  proposed  to  him  that 
we  move  right  away  from  the  Residence. 
That  he  consented  to  this  plan  I  thank  that 
same  Providence  that  allowed  me  to  learn  to 
know  you,  my  beloved,  and  transformed  for 
me  so  many  bitter  hours  into  happy  minutes. 
Schubert,  the  parting  from  you  means  the 
numbing  of  my  soul ;  henceforth,  I  am  alone. 
The  rough  north  wind  has  given  me  my 
deserts,  and  nipped  my  love  in  the  bud.  Now 
I  follow  my  unloved  husband,  Heaven  knows 
for  how  long,  without  a  friend !  As  for  you, 
give  yourself  up  to  your  Muse,  and  draw  from 
it  inspiration  and — forgetfulness.  The  accom- 
panying Book  of  Songs,  which  Heine  has  writ- 
ten out  of  very  riot  and  tempest  of  soul,  ac- 
cept from  one  who  will  ever  think  of  you  with 
blissful  affection.     May  these  inspire  you  to 


Schubert  Fantasies  125 

new  songs  of  love!    This  is  the  wish  of  your 

'^GABRIELLE" 

The  paper  fell  to  the  ground. 
**  'Tis  the  last  will  and  testament     of    one 
who  abandons  me  for  love,"  sighed^  Schubert, 
"and  high  in  reverence  will  I  hold  it." 

He  opened  the  book  and  his  eyes  fell  upon 
a  poem.  Scarcely  had  he  read  the  first  lines 
than  the  blood  rushed  to  his  cheeks. 

''Fate,"  cried  he,  in  an  agony  of  pain,  ''dost 
thou  again  mock  me,  thou  pale  companion 
mine,  or  do  I  already  belong  to  another 
world?"  In  feverish  haste  he  turned  to  the 
piano  and  struck  a  loud  chord.  ''Thank  God, 
I  am  still  alive;  my  heart  still  beats,  my  mind 
still  acts ;"  and  full  of  emotion  he  seized  paper 
and  pen.  "Gabrielle,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  gift; 
'tis  I  will  be  thy  singer;  to  thee  shall  the  first 
song  from  the  book  be  devoted." 

"Alas !"  sighed  Therese ;  "there,  he's  begin- 
ning to  play  again.  I  thought  I  had  cured  him 
of  all  his  mysterious  dreams  yet  once  more  I 
hear  those  gloomy  tones,  as  though  he  were 
chanting  his  own  funeral  Dirge." 

Weirdly  clang  the  chords  of  the  key  of  B 
minor,  and  went  trembling  through  the  room 
like  voices  from  the  grave.  The  old  woman 
stood  like  one  petrified  before  the  door.    The 


126  Schubert  Fantasies 

clock    from    the    neighbouring    church    steeple 
struck  eleven  in  sepulchral  tones. 

"Silent  the  streets,  by  night  overtaken ; 

This  house     my     loved    one's   presence  did 
grace; 
But  she  the  town  has  now  forsaken, 

Though  there  the  house  stands  in  the  self- 
same place. 


"And  there  stands  a  man,     who     upwards  is 
staring. 
His   hands   hard  wringing  in  outbursts    of 
woe ;  «. 

I  shudder,  his  form  with  mine  comparing. 
The  moon  to    me     doth     my  own  features 
show. 

"Thou     pale     companion,     thou     counterfeit 
fellow. 

Why  act  this  hideous  pantomime? — 
Why  ape  the  pangs  that  here  I  suffered, 

So  many  a  night  in  former  time?" 


"Nay,  cost  what  it  will,  he  must  to  rest,'^ 
whispered  the  anxious  listener,  and  flung  open 
the  door  of  his  room.  Her  beloved  master  lay 
senseless  on  the  floor! 

The  tones  of  the  Lyre  had  died  away — its 
golden  strings  had  snapped  in  twain!     On  the 


Schubert  Fantasies  127 

afternoon  of  Nov.  21st,  1828,  the  remains  of 
the  Master  singer,  who  had  caught  typhoid 
fever  during  his  visit  to  the  cemetery,  were 
laid  in  the  ground,  at  that  very  spot  where  a 
few  days  before  he  had  seen  his  own  wraith 
praying.  And  his  immortal  soul  was  wafted 
up  into  the  kingdom  of  indissoluble  harmony. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


FEB  11 


im 


NOV  2   193-1 


Afrt 


ft  ^^ 


WW   8  1S36  3 


1^1:0   IG  1&30 
MAY    B    W45 


?Ma"4oPV 


RECD  LD 

AFP         '^■?- 


LD  21-2m-l,'33  (52m) 


DATE  DUE 


,J: 


Music  Library 

University  of  California  at 
Berkeley 


